Get out of my house!

Holy shit! What are all these people doing in my house. Okay, my mom, fine. She’s got rights. Joanna, okay, she’s paying. But I don’t think that anonymous Y-Ties workers working at our goddamn kitchen table was covered in the “warehouse rental” $400/month.

I can’t do anything. I can’t play the piano, I can’t compose (shit, I can’t do that recently anyway), I can’t listen to music (at the volume I like :-).

Get The Fuck Out!

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