one of them had been left slightly ajar, but I know how much the dickhead hates cats (two have been found dead in the complex in the last eight months, and as his hate of felines is common knowledge, he is (was) the prime suspect), so I wasn’t holding out too much hope that they would be open anyways.
Secondly, because the front doors of the upper level (well the bottom half of them anyway) are blocked from view from the street by the corridor wall, and because I would have needed to go through the front doors of the other units – now and probably in the future – the practice of opening the door by removing the handle, while not taking a chance of being seen and being so close to the relative safety of my front door, could prove to be great practice.
So I got to it, unscrewed the door handle, removed the locking mechanism, and the door swung open. Luckily, like me, the false sense of security of living in a complex often meant that people didn’t worry with security gates, double locks, chains, lock bolts and the rest. I grabbed my nail gun from the backpack and crawled inside. It fucking stank. The cause of the stench? Bloody students... A half-eaten Debonairs pizza on the kitchen counter, luckily not a dead body.
I shut the door, stood up and had a look around. The townhouse, a mirror image of mine, was your typical dwelling of two guys – one couch, no frames or paintings in the lounge, but a huge flat screen TV. (I know it’s wrong, but it’s in my house now. If they come back, I’ll give it back to them, honest). It smelt funny though, and that was apart from the maggot and fly infested pizza – I am sure that that was the way it smelt before anyways. Both of them were smokers, and you could see it by the yellowed walls (the overflowing ashtrays, I suppose, were a dead giveaway too). But I didn’t care about any of that. Apart from the flies there was no movement in the flat. I quickly checked both rooms and bathrooms, nail gun in hand, but apart from one sparse room and adjoining bathroom (porn magazines visible under the bed) – Steve’s – and another strewn with dirty clothes – his son, Jared’s room – I was quite certain that I was alone in there.
So to business. I got some cloth bags out (plastic would have been too noisy), and headed for the kitchen. The fridge was, as I had predicted, a waste of time. There was no fresh food – and it probably wouldn’t have been too good anyways – but I did get another half a bottle of tomato sauce, some Italian salad dressing and two bottles of wine. Next I moved on to the pantry cupboard – almost a waste of time if I was only after food. But I wasn’t. It was filled with beer. YAY! I haven’t had a beer for ages! So earlier when I went back to ‘borrow’ the TV, I helped myself to two cases of Windhoek Draught, one case of Millers and a case of Heineken. There’s plenty left there but I didn’t want to be greedy. I guess having an alcoholic arsehole next door neighbour does have its advantages.
After discovering this goldmine I turned my attention to what I had actually come there for – food. I rifled through the rest of the kitchen cupboards and managed to find one small area dedicated to food. I filled my bags with all the tinned and packet food that I could find – I got some rice, pasta, tinned fruit (I left the three tins of frikking sweetcorn), sugar, assorted sweets, and for some reason I also took the carton of Peter Stuyvesant cigarettes that was there, just in case. It seems like the end of the world, so maybe starting smoking would not be the worst thing I could do. Sorry Mom.
That was about it from the kitchen, although I did find some AA and AAA batteries which I slipped into the bag just in case. I had a quick look in Steve and Jared’s cupboards for anything which may come in handy, and added a couple of bottles of headache tablets from Steve’s bathroom, a few Steven King books (I’ve read all
Secondly, because the front doors of the upper level (well the bottom half of them anyway) are blocked from view from the street by the corridor wall, and because I would have needed to go through the front doors of the other units – now and probably in the future – the practice of opening the door by removing the handle, while not taking a chance of being seen and being so close to the relative safety of my front door, could prove to be great practice.
So I got to it, unscrewed the door handle, removed the locking mechanism, and the door swung open. Luckily, like me, the false sense of security of living in a complex often meant that people didn’t worry with security gates, double locks, chains, lock bolts and the rest. I grabbed my nail gun from the backpack and crawled inside. It fucking stank. The cause of the stench? Bloody students... A half-eaten Debonairs pizza on the kitchen counter, luckily not a dead body.
I shut the door, stood up and had a look around. The townhouse, a mirror image of mine, was your typical dwelling of two guys – one couch, no frames or paintings in the lounge, but a huge flat screen TV. (I know it’s wrong, but it’s in my house now. If they come back, I’ll give it back to them, honest). It smelt funny though, and that was apart from the maggot and fly infested pizza – I am sure that that was the way it smelt before anyways. Both of them were smokers, and you could see it by the yellowed walls (the overflowing ashtrays, I suppose, were a dead giveaway too). But I didn’t care about any of that. Apart from the flies there was no movement in the flat. I quickly checked both rooms and bathrooms, nail gun in hand, but apart from one sparse room and adjoining bathroom (porn magazines visible under the bed) – Steve’s – and another strewn with dirty clothes – his son, Jared’s room – I was quite certain that I was alone in there.
So to business. I got some cloth bags out (plastic would have been too noisy), and headed for the kitchen. The fridge was, as I had predicted, a waste of time. There was no fresh food – and it probably wouldn’t have been too good anyways – but I did get another half a bottle of tomato sauce, some Italian salad dressing and two bottles of wine. Next I moved on to the pantry cupboard – almost a waste of time if I was only after food. But I wasn’t. It was filled with beer. YAY! I haven’t had a beer for ages! So earlier when I went back to ‘borrow’ the TV, I helped myself to two cases of Windhoek Draught, one case of Millers and a case of Heineken. There’s plenty left there but I didn’t want to be greedy. I guess having an alcoholic arsehole next door neighbour does have its advantages.
After discovering this goldmine I turned my attention to what I had actually come there for – food. I rifled through the rest of the kitchen cupboards and managed to find one small area dedicated to food. I filled my bags with all the tinned and packet food that I could find – I got some rice, pasta, tinned fruit (I left the three tins of frikking sweetcorn), sugar, assorted sweets, and for some reason I also took the carton of Peter Stuyvesant cigarettes that was there, just in case. It seems like the end of the world, so maybe starting smoking would not be the worst thing I could do. Sorry Mom.
That was about it from the kitchen, although I did find some AA and AAA batteries which I slipped into the bag just in case. I had a quick look in Steve and Jared’s cupboards for anything which may come in handy, and added a couple of bottles of headache tablets from Steve’s bathroom, a few Steven King books (I’ve read all
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