I moved into my apartment a few days ago. The first thing that I encountered upon opening the door, was a giant fucking cockroach. He reeled on his hind legs and hissed "Welcome to New York City."
I named him Leroy. He scurried toward me. I screamed, jumped out of his path. He scattered and was gone. Leroy was about as long as my thumb and almost twice as thick. Granted, I have very small hands. Lady hands.
The apartment is not what I thought it would be, although, it is pretty typical for New York. Not the nicest of neighborhoods, not the worst either. My bedroom has a breathtaking view of a fetid brick alleyway. I like it. It is mine.
Leroy came out again last night when I came home. He again was waiting at the door. When Adam and I opened it, he reared up, popped a wheelie, and charged us. I screamed and danced once again, Adam laughed at me. He stomped the ground over and over. Adam accidentally squashed it. He froze. He told me to just go in the bedroom. I don't think he wanted me to see what was left under his sneaker. Adam is a gentleman. That is good. I do not appreciate bugs.
Even still, I miss Leroy. He was nice.