%$&@#$

Dear Boston Rental Market,

Fuck off and die. May your metaphoric loins be beset by sores that ooze pus, thus your undergarments stick to them and you must rip the garments off, creating a blinding pain which renders you useless. I have TOLD YOU. I cannot afford $800 a month for a semi-decent apartment in a semi-decent neighborhood. I will NOT live in the fucking student ghetto that is Washington and Comm Ave. No, I cannot pay more than $1500 a month. This is what I have TOLD YOU. This is a RENTER'S market, and as a renter I must insist you come down in price a little. You classist, elitist landowning swine. No, Brighton Center is NOT OKAY. I don't have a car. I am not taking the bus. I hope you get herpes.

I saw a place last night. It has been vacant for six months because there are piles of dust in the corners. There was an old bottle of Gatorade in the fridge. Three bars of dried up soap sat in the shower. The toilet was a copper color in the bowl. The kitchen was small and similarly filthy. We were on the fence when the realtor offered to have the place cleaned, until the characteristic sound of music filtered through the floorboards and Deb and I ran in horror. Fuck no. $750 a month to live with the same type of shitty insulation I have now? Fuck. No.

So you'd better come up with something, or else I'm going to be commuting from my grandmother's house in Rhode Island until you do. So help me, I will move to Denver or Portland or wherever I must to have a fucking quiet apartment you greedy, horrible fucks. It's fifty goddamn bucks a month less I'm asking. If you're going to assrape me, at least get the rapist with a smaller dick.

Suck it,
Amy