Everything must go! I’m selling most of my shit and moving in a few weeks, or maybe not. Either way, I can’t think of a better home for my hard-to-find set pieces (couch, desk) and bought-when-indigent IKEA mainstays (matching faux-wood bookshelves and CD towers) than in a house, apartment, hut, shack or igloo that isn’t mine.
Say - your house/apartment/etc. isn’t mine. Could there be a real-property love connection?
Would you like the toaster that browned the bagel I ate while composing such literary masterworks as “Larry watches people play basketball” and “Larry asks fawning questions to the dudes from The Shield”? Would you like the unfinished oak storage chest that housed the sweatshirts I wore while writing my first screenplay or exposing myself to high culture? Of course you would. Make an offer. Come pick your bounty up. Once more, with feeling: Everything! Must! Go!
I’m ready to deal and I Got The Papers Right Here. Coincidentally enough, that’s the name of today’s FReedy FRiday selection. Eerie! Buy it here.
