Subleasing

During my ten-week stay in Seattle, I subleased an apartment that was basically 400 square feet of nothing. Well, I shouldn't say nothing. There was a lot of pink toule, a collection of cheap horror movies, a skull shaped candle, and dinnerware made by cavemen. My "landlord" was an opera singer, and judging by her apartment, she was a starving artist: No TV, no microwave, no real bed, no real couch, no real anything for that matter. A pile of charred remains lived in the oven, as if something spilled and then fused to the bottom. The basement smelled like the dumpters that lined the hall. The maintenance man needed a lot of maintenance himself. My neighbors were covered in tatoos, visible only because they wore very little clothing. Parking was a nightmare.

I had a great time in Seattle, and I even felt at home in my apartment after I hid all the creepy objects in a cubbard, rearranged the "furniture," and made-up the bed (my landlord slept on a nap mat in the closet). I loved that I could walk to work and downtown shopping (Macy's, Sephora, Loft, Anthropologie).

Do I miss Seattle? Yes. Do I miss my apartment in Seattle? Not so much.