Farewell, Egghead and Dingbat.

Although this may be a permanent goodbye, I must admit: good times were shared at this place. Your paint chipping, nails petruding, I had initially thought you were a herpes infested farmland with an apartment complex built on top of it. I was wrong, given time, I came to accept your forthcomings. I even held my 21st birthday in your Olympic sized vessel of liquid. Your landlord may have been the dumbest person I have ever had to deal with, but I also accepted her as a person lacking the common traits for a civilized woman.

I praise to you, you rebuilt my entire balcony after Mark tried to throw his life away by swinging around back and forth on it like a boat. You fixed my pathetically designed clothes bar, nearly five times. Your light fixtures dated, but you still continued serving light into the dark corners of our personalized rooms. You loved us, didn't you?

However, I have decided to move on to something new. I have found better things in life. Your Egghead mafia maintenance man no longer entertains me. The "merrr" jokes have gotten dry and repetitive. Your microwaves no longer heat up my soups, air conditioning takes hot hair and reuses it, and carpet has accumulated enough dirt to make my feet dark brown after a few minutes of walking around.

You're old, Almondwood.

And I might not be the first one to say this, but I will be the last. Fuck you and your goddamn showers.