Yard Sale

The 31st, ready to move, clean and empty apartment. I wish it were that simple. I spent most of today opening and sorting all the boxes we've taped up for the move. Reason: we're having a yard sale to thin out the ranks of our belongings. I'm crazy Eddie and ready to make a deal! Sure. If the weather holds out, we'll be peddling our most important possessions this weekend, banking on church traffic and pack rats so intent on hording what they can before the apocalypse, they rifle through other people's waste in efforts to collect. Can't wait.

I mentioned before the clean and empty apartment; we finished this morning. We vacuumed and washed the final floor after a restless night sleeping on a cheap futon mattress through a thunderstorm. We packed up the cars and I, at least, said farewell to the apartment. Amber will complete the deal with a landlord walk-through this evening, and that's it. Where we lived for five and a half years is now closed. Keys returned. Locked.

We created fond memories at the Bancroft, yet retrospective thoughts cannot surpass the confusing and often troubling times we lived through in Westfield. Frank's interpretive dance in the laundry room while wearing a woman's bathing suit; the guy that wanted to know if I would sell him our cat; the other guy that didn't worry about it. That was a weird place, but it served us well and taught us to keep to ourselves in an apartment complex. A very important lesson.