The guy downstairs, Rick, is a decent sort. Hard working - he's a painter. Not portraits, but houses. He's single and is quiet. He's neighbourly, but not nosey. Just the kind I like.
J's downstairs grabbing the laundry and Rick pokes his head into the laundry room and says, "Oh, it's you. Did you see the big Indian guy?"
J says "Who?"
Rick says "This big Indian guy. I'm in my apt. and this guy, big guy, bigger than you, walks in and asks, "Do you have any rolling papers?"
J says "What? You're kidding me. He walked right into your place?"
Rick says "Yeah, I'm serious. I think he was a friend of Paul's. He leaves, but about 10 minutes later he comes back. He walks into my apt. and asks "You got a joint?" Rick tells him "Get the fuck out of here."
J tells him "That's just messed up."
Rick says "Yeah. Just another day in my fucked up life."
That one sentences sums up everything perfectly.
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