And while there is no running water, or garbage cans, or service to pick up said cans, and a front gate that doesn't latch, there's also crayon on the walls, a turd in the toilet that's been there for two weeks when a homeless guy broke in and stayed the night, and there's a bit of wood rot in the eaves with a moldy shadow that whispers anti-Semitic remarks at me... this house is mine! This piece of crap house is finally mine!
Don't even get me on the paint color discussion. I'm pretty sure one of us will get a paint roller crammed up the ass before the end of this. (And it will be him if he thinks I will let him paint the kitchen any shade of purple. "No, Brian, I do not think it would be cool to cut up aubergines in the aubergine kitchen. What is wrong with you?")