Jan 22 2018 #1
Written in 2022:
Much as I would love to say this is hyperbole for the sake of laughs, this is not at all what it is. The building we lived in was filled to the brim with bed bugs. There was damn near always blood somewhere on our stairwell, and I have no fucking clue where it all came from. We had mold in the ceilings because the vent was actually open to the outside, with no ventilation fan. The bedbugs destroyed most of our furniture. Blood and shit in the stairwell. People were being attacked in our building. People were falling asleep on the landing and it was just normal for us. Sometimes I would be in the hall, talking to a neighbor, and we would pause as a piece of the wall moved, a fat bedbug clambering up the paint. Someone ended up as a part time maintenance worker and had to scrub blood off our walls and… well. It went on and on and on.
I hated that place. It became synonymous with suffering for me.