Mark's Pages

June 7, 2006:

Haven't been inside your dorm room for some time. Outside, there's a heavy trash receptacle before the door which you must first move aside; the other students look at you unfamiliarly. Inside, to your surprise, the carpets have been soaked by some kind of automated watering system intended for plants; the floors are slimy-slippery, although when you raise the carpet the wood floor is undamaged. The plants have overgrown in all directions; many as large as small trees. Others have died, leaving long branches like thin trunks. Many of your guitars are there, which you greet with recognition; you pick up a long-looking blonde bass and play it before the mirror. Several pairs of jeans lie over chair backs: blue, black; you knew you had more of these. Who to call, to have this mess cleaned up?