Sid of winkie.org reflects on his swinging beltway bachelor pad.
But when I looked at my empty bedroom before leaving the apartment for the last time I found myself tearing up a bit and feeling attached to the place (after five years I never paid more than $900 to rent this one-bedroom with hardwood floors, a fireplace, off-street parking and a 10-minute walk to Eastern Market). It’s the longest-term residence I’ve had since living on my own, and I’ll miss everything about it except the tiny kitchen with the scary stove.
I’ll also miss the smell of Popeye’s on 8th Street when I walk to Blockbuster to rent a movie. I’ll miss the lesbian dance club that always has women hanging outside who could kick the shit out of the Marines down the street.