I used to live with a guy I’ll call Kevin. Kevin wasn’t chaotic in the obvious way. He paid bills, showed up to work, and liked to think of himself as financially responsible. But every now and then he’d reveal a belief about how the world worked that made you question everything. When we first moved into our apartment, the rent was $1,200. Total. We agreed to split it, so $600 each. First month went fine. Second month I reminded him rent was due and he just stared at me and said, “Didn’t we already pay that?” I thought he was joking. He wasn’t. After a very serious conversation I realized Kevin thought $1,200 was for the entire lease term. Not per month. The whole year. In his mind, he had secured housing for $600 total and was quietly proud of finding the deal of the century. When I explained that $1,200 was the monthly rent, he went completely silent for a few seconds and then said, “That makes way more sense. I was wondering why more people don’t just rent instead of buying houses...
I’ve been working at a small-time storage facility for about 3 years now. It doesn’t pay much, but it was a pretty good distraction from things. Lord knows how hard it’s been since my sister went missing. One moment she was here, the next she wasn’t. We searched to no avail, but hope still lived in our hearts that one day we’d find her. Unfortunately, though, hope isn’t enough for me most days. And unlike the rest of my family, my hope was fleeting. That’s what brings us here. This shitty, hospital-lighted warehouse with hundreds of concrete rooms designated for old junk and knickknacks. I just had to find a way to get out of the house. Now, working here, I’ve seen my fair share of renters; all of which would bring every all manner of random items in to forget about. Things ranging from family heirlooms and furniture, to old high school trophies and man-cave relics. I never understood why they wouldn’t just…throw some of this junk away. Or at least donate it, you know? That’s actually...