A Squatter’s Dream
Three-bedroom converted from charming studio. One heat-warped, hernia-inducing window blanketed in decades of grime and quiet desperation. Vistas of exposed brick on adjacent building. Original fireplace and/or oven—your chance to be creative. Rodent-free (last we checked, but inquire about squirrel, ferret, or whatever’s been making that nnyk-nnyk sound in the middle of the night). Pervasive cherrylike chemical odor (nausea and migraines subside within minutes of exiting building). Helpful super, except for stalking tendencies and rare skin disorder. (Caution: Do not shake his hand.)
Ratso Rizzo Died Here
One-room hovel. Heat and hot water not included, or available. Sunless layout great for developing Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) or photographs. Fitting environment for suicidal ideation, nurturing a nascent battle with substance abuse, and bringing your masturbatory habits to surprisingly depraved heights. White noise provided by upstairs neighbor’s perpetual replaying of Eric Carmen’s 1975 hit “All by Myself.” Flying cockroaches the size of shoehorns. Convenient excuse to decline entertaining friends or cooking for significant other. Antidepressants not required but recommended. An instant character builder.
Live Like a Pimp With a Renovated John
Discreet loft space and former brothel-in-the-making. Numerous “bedrooms.” Frequent and diverse satisfied visitors. Twenty-four-hour indoor video surveillance and front-desk host. Shared newly grouted bathroom with complimentary “round the world” specials and varied role-playing wardrobe. Bustling kitchen nook boasting international ladies and stylish Mr. Coffee coffeemaker. Mandatory daily tipping. Soundproofing of walls additional charge but suggested. Unlimited supply of peppermint condoms, antibacterial soap, and bottom-shelf vodka.
$2,400/month or best offer
Abusive Father Figure Seeks
Tenant With Low Self-Esteem
Privately owned floor-through. (I live on the first floor and won’t tolerate the noise. This includes your laughter. I’d prefer to live alone but need the money due to problematic gambling situation. Your first month’s security, Christ willing, would go toward paying enough off to avoid my femur being cracked like corn.) If you don’t fiddle with the stove too much, it should work just fine (just don’t fiddle with it). Garden is not shared. Let me repeat—that’s my garden and no one else’s. I catch you there, I will make you hurt. Don’t test me. A real find at this price. What, you could do better? Go on, say that to my face.
Oh Boy, You’re in the Hood!
Crack-infested, quasi-gentrified hipster oasis. Pets welcome, particularly deranged and underfed pit bulls trained exclusively for dog fighting and accompanying drug dealers during sales. Very arty in a this-will-lead-to-riveting-stories-if-I-don’t-die-here kind of way. Four walls circumscribe your grit, indefatigable hope, and barely repressed numbing horror. Original details include .33-caliber bullet holes in mantel above fireplace, pool of blood seeping from overhead storage in bedroom closet, and police chalk outline in EIK. Gang-ready or perfect starter for newly marrieds. Any far wall ideal for baby crib, getting your freak on, or cowering after the clack-clack of a drive-by or the arrival of an uninvited houseguest. Be a pioneer today!