I Live In A Dumpster On Murder Row ... but homeless at the end of the month ...

So, there I was ... faced with the prospect of drug dealers and noisy neighbors inhabiting the space all around my quiet comfy little dumpster and I had to do something about it. But first ... the dumpster ...

Not bad, eh? Lots of room and kind of nice on the inside ...

And the street. Yes, I live on a street called Murder Row. Last summer, some fool in the building next to my dumpster shot at the police. It created havoc in the hood for two hours. He gave up when he ran out of cigarettes.

So I had it. I mean, I had it with crack dealers, and pot dealers and sound systems that made the walls of my dumpster rattle and shake so much that my 250 pound psychotic gay cat Pico began having all new psychotic episodes.

So I finally passed in my one month notice. But it's been a long time since I've moved. Too long. I forgot how it worked. Especially the part about having a new place to live in at the end of the month.

Things promise to be interesting over the next three weeks.