Last night was my friend D’s first night in his new bed in his new house. He and I had been chatting online back and forth a little bit, and at one point he said I should come over. I packed a small overnight bag and used a rideshare app to get there, only about ten minutes away.
The house was freezing, the windows were open and it had to have been 35 degrees outside, if that. D met me at the door and ushered me in, giving me a tour.
“I like all of your flags,” I said, looking at all of the many flags on the wall.
“They are covering up holes!” he said, lifting the corner of one to reveal an imprint of a fist in the drywall. I learned that the house used to belong to a bunch of punk rockers. Now, D lives in this house with three others for dirt cheap ($200 a month!) and is allowed to modify it however he chooses.