The Apartment.

Essay by cheatdoggCollege, UndergraduateA, November 2003

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I got a call from a friend saying that I haven't been over his place to hang out in a

while and that I should come over and watch the game that was going to be on. A

football game if I recall correctly. Immediately I thought of the last time I was at his

house. I thought of the pig sty that it was and how uncomfortable it made me feel. I

stayed silent on the phone. Hoping that he would change the subject, it made him ask

even more that I come over. Having been put in that situation, I knew that I had to go.

He was a close friend. So I asked if he had cleaned the apartment recently. He told me

that his place was just cleaned and looked brand new. With having heard that, I told him

that I'll be over later.

Then I asked if he needed anything from the store. He said a

muffled no and I heard a thump. I asked what that was. He said that he had tripped over

something on the floor, and dropped the phone. Hearing him say that that made me think,

that his place wasn't really clean. I had started to regret saying that I would come over. It

was too late.

When I pulled up to my friend's house I noticed that it had been painted. It used

to be an old rusty red, as if old blood was splashed on the walls. Now it was freshly

painted white, with a light blue trim. The windows and the doors were new, with some

landscaping changes. I had a flash back of what it was. I remember brown dead grass, if

you could call it grass. Patchy at best, mostly dirt. With roots...