Since I’ve moved in, I’ve discovered that many residents of the Lower East Side pay for their prime placement, as I do, in inconveniences like broken front doors. Apparently, it’s not enough that we pay more than our parents’ mortage to live in a shoebox near a decent bar. No, we are also required to endure small inconveniences like, say, hobos letting themselves into our foyer and taking a copious poo in front of the buzzer.
If you’re suffering from a broken front door, say I offer a recommendation? Pull down your pants right now and take a dump by the mailboxes. This is the only way to get your front door fixed. Shortly after the Incident of Hobo Bowel Evacuation, I came home to find the following note on my front door:
DO NOT FORSE (sic) LOCK
DOOR IS FIXED
USE KEY OR RING BELL
Ha! Ha ha ha ha. I only asked six times. The lesson here? A pile of poo is worth a thousand words. Thank you, Hobo Superman!