This Can't Be Happening

Last week here at The Asylum, everything was all kittywampus with the soiled carpet that smelled like old stale coochie and cat pee and with roofers in and out. I left at noon on Friday after I booked 89K in sales (thank you very much) then went to run some errands (more on that later.)

This morning, I pulled up to see the doors standing open again and wondered if the odor of Ben-Gay and rose petals (the disinfectant) had over powered the previous stench and after being closed up for three days had become so strong it would eat your eyelashes off. Lord knows on Friday it was leaving a film on my tongue.

But no.

Lulu was standing in the hallway when I arrived.

"It was 89° in the office when I got here," she said. "The air conditioner is broken."

It lasted one year.

The maintenance guy was only up there about 10 minutes before he came down to give us a report.

"It's broke," he explained. "Just broke. The fan... it just fell out. It's laying there." We stared at him in disbelief. "I don't know," he said shaking his head.

It's supposed to be 93° in the holler today. Lawd help us all. Let the underboob sweat begin.