Napping Under The Sidewalk, The Signal Ganking Gramma and The Neighbors Building is Worse So Shut Up

Every once in a while I will venture down a few floors to the way way basement. It's a new adventure each time with all the tiny secret rooms and tunnels down there. I like to take quick nap breaks in the various underground nooks that extend underneath the sidewalk. I rather enjoy listening to the conversations of the hipster neighbors talking about their bands, cocaine and hairstyles. Sucks when they notice me listening by looking through the cracks and tiny sidewalk windows, I pretend I'm sleeping.

There is a whole network of tunnels and hallways that connect basically every building on my block and it is very easy to get confused as to where you are. The best indicator is the carpet. The carpet in my building is totally covered with abstract honeybee designs and is different from the others. But then again, I go down there so infrequently that sometimes I forget whether or not I had the carpet switched out for the big checkered carpet with all the sunflowers. I mean I have some pretty homosexual tastes in decor, but come on, ---- maybe if I was drunk.

When I stumble on to the apartments of long forgotten tenants, I play it off like I completely remember them, no sense in reacting too quickly. Why potentially offend the sweet old woman with the inch thick glasses in basement number 3 when she really seems to be keeping the place nice? If she isn't paying the rent and I haven't noticed by now, I must not really need it. Besides, not many women her age would have a 50 inch LCD screen coffee table with full internet, although she is probably ganking my signal and slowing down my porn.

One frustrating part about it are all the empty rooms with the slanty floors and leaky plumbing. These old buildings have some really interesting old bathrooms in them. Last night I found a room that had an old ball and claw bath tub that had the side cut out which kinda turned it into a lovely sofa which is a great idea except that all the water runs out and makes a big sludgy pool in the lowest corner of the room. Hello mold. After I fiddled with the leaky faucet to slow the flow, I realized I wasn't even in my own building which was a relief because just then ten other tenants showed up to complain about the mold.

"What building is this?" I asked.

"The Van Dyke"

"Yeah, this isn't my building"

"Well do you know who owns our building?"

"Obviously someone with bad taste in carpet. My guess is that he is gay and possibly dead."