Today I rented another apartment. A nice two bedroom, ground floor, fully furnished (including an overstuffed living room ensemble) apartment that is the furthest unit from the street and has it’s own very small interior patio with the typical laundry sink one finds here. It also has an intercom to the front gate with which one may buzz in visitors. It is in a complex of 20 units where no pets of any kind are permitted and the place is clean.
The apartment includes roof access, three stories up, which I am hoping the signal from a wireless modem will reach. The manager and her daughters who did the rental paper work we’re all very nice and even laughed at my jokes, tendered in my clumsey Spanish.
Tomorrow I will move my belongings and bid a very relieved farewell to the dog pound, its whiney, yapping chihuahua; the barking of the various other canine inhabitants; that omnipresent odor of dog chow processed by those four legged inhabitants; the need to watch where I walk down the passageway, which isn’t easy at night; and my dark and dank dog pound apartment where when it rain the roof in the bathroom leaks and the bathroom is right below where dogs live.