This ain’t Joe’s apartment

The other night I woke up around midnight (again, hot and hungry) thinking it was the holocaust. I have never seen so many cockroaches per square foot congregating in the kitchen. I am not exaggerating when I say that there were at least a dozen on the floor, not counting those around the trash can. And I have never loved and appreciated insect spray until that time. It was mass murder.

It turned out that they snuck in from the drainage pipes whose cover was let loose because we had a previous drainage problem. We would have these occasional, pesky unwanted guests every now and then but at that particular night, the creepy creatures brought in new recruits. I’m guessing this was how they let the word out: “Hey, I hear the inhabitants of the blue flat don’t wash their dishes at night. Why don’t we hang out there tonight? Call the gang. We’re going to rock their kitchen!”

Oh excuse me creepy crawlers, but this isn’t Joe’s apartment. You got the address all mixed up. I was never a party pooper but you creatures of the holocaust and the loads of bacteria and viruses attached to your little legs are not welcome in the blue flat. Ever. And that sealed drainage should be an indication. Tell that to your gang. And don’t even think of flying as an alternative.