Daikaijuzine

Kid, I’ll tell you right now. It’s hell finding a place here. Here’s the daily rundown: You walk around, see a possible vacancy-something with windows, maybe running water, cable for the hell of it-find the place has been staked out already, move on.

Sure, people can bunk together, but there are rules about that. My last place is a perfect example, this rancid two-bedroom hole I rented with some friend of a friend-you know how that goes. Seemed okay when I moved in. His girlfriend, though. Man, I could tell she was a psycho from the start, and I still moved in, I needed a place that bad.

That shithole, yeah, that’s where I should be. Except for the whole technicality that I didn’t actually die there. They don’t tell you where you die is what’s important, not where you lived or where the wrong was done you. Boy, did that piss me off. I get the hospital stretcher since technically-everything’s a technicality here-I bit it on the street and that’s P.D. Public Domain. More people than you’d think get screwed that way. It’s a nice way of saying, “You didn’t have the foresight to die in a nice luxury building with HBO, so here: Have a gurney!”

Seems just about everybody comes through on this fuckin’ time-share program. It’s pretty much since people stopped dying at home, and hospitals are off-limits, for duh reasons. Why duh? Think about it. Anyway, I’m next in line for my apartment, but get this-I didn’t know this till I got here-there’s already someone there. Some woman who choked about fifty years ago. She wasn’t murdered, but she’s considered a restless spirit because it was all “untimely” and shit. Another technicality. And of course the bitch won’t give up the place. She doesn’t do anything to deserve it-occasionally rolls silverware onto the floor when nobody’s home. Gives her the giggles. Jesus. What’s the point of hanging around if you’re just gonna sit and do nothing? Guess some people are always afraid of making waves, of change, even after the biggest change of all.

So I just wander, check out the neighborhood, meet people. You don’t want to drift too far in case you lose your spot. With all the places we can go now, what do they do but find a way to keep us tied down. Some guys like the drifting. Like there was a murder in this-here building. Case is solved, killer’s in jail, guy says he’s real anxious to move on to whatever world’s next, but he keeps hanging out. Then there’s guys like Eddie. Eddie was another choker, but he’s new here and likes the sights. He’s a good guy. I got nothing against him; untimely deaths get some leeway. (Fifty years? Too damn much leeway.) Eddie’s got two kids and this gorgeous wife, so he’s waiting till they get over him, and that’s okay by me.

Eddie’s lucky. He croaked in a new building, no previous tenants, so he’s got first dibs. He says anyone can join him. But like I said, there are rules about that, like with pets or subletting. Being in a place where you’re not supposed to be-goddamn, there are rules about everything. And there’s gotta be two hundred people that I know of waiting either for Eddie to leave or maybe get approved to bunk with him. You should check it out; they won’t punish you for that.

What, the hellfire and damnation bit? I think it’s a bunch of threats-like life, you know, to keep you in line. But truthfully I’m not gonna step out and risk my place in line. I got plans, so I keep close to my apartment, where I got the gunfire through the gut. Like that? Yeah, “gunfire through the gut,” I’m a goddamn poet. All my stuff’s still there, too – there was some good magazines and the money they think is there. They’ll stick around as long as they think they can find it, but nobody’s found it yet and they never will.

Right, the money the psycho bitch girlfriend was after when she shot me. It was my deal, my money, and she thought she had a right to it? Tell you now, my mistake was wasting time trying to get that knife instead of keeping to my fists. That gave her a better claim to self-defense. Makes me crazy nobody cares that she started it, and did they even ask how she knew where I kept my gun? Once she’s cleared, they’ll move back into the apartment and keep looking. Oh sure, she’ll get off, I know it. She’s got this whole crying poor-female-rape-self-defense thing and I’ve seen enough Law & Order to know how that’s gonna end.

Anyway, that’s why I want the place back, so I can mess with ‘em. I have it all planned out with my pal Henry. He’s restless, got nobody to haunt right now, a crazy mofo but a good egg. Good to hang with him again.

Sure, I tried to enlist the crazy old choking woman, but she says she saw what happened and I had it coming. Sheesh. Try to explain, she turns away like you’re nothing. Like she’s the freakin’ queen. I’ve tried to get her to at least share the place, but I guess I haven’t found the right way to persuade her yet. Maybe something else for Henry to think about.

Man, I tell you: women. Girlfriend regrets being such a good shot. I was gone before she could find out where the money was. Ha! I think I did that on purpose. Boyfriend doesn’t trust her much now either. Dude’s nervous as hell. I don’t think he knew how much she’d been in the apartment with me and without him. See what I’m getting at? When it’s your dick or your money, you always gotta decide what’s more important.

Anyway, welcome. Sure, it can be fun – nobody can jump you on the streets no more, right? But kid, seriously, don’t be afraid to let go. There’s tons of competition and if you think your problems are over, they’re just beginning if you plan to stick around. The rent control scam they’ve got going here is a real bitch, just like in life, except if it feels like you’re waiting forever, it’s probably because you are.

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