row house of the dead

So, Jodi and I (but mostly Jodi) finally came to the end of a very lengthy apartment search Monday night, and I have to say, for someone that despises the prospect of moving, I'm almost excited to settle into our new digs. Yes, almost. That's because, for all it's charms, I'm fairly certain the apartment is haunted.

It has to be. First of all, it's an old row house. You can't spit in an old row house and not have it pass through the ghost of a burly, axe-wielding gentleman with a large mustache and a vendetta against his adulterous wife. Those suckers are drawn to brick like bees to honey.

Then, there's the backyard, the only patch of land within a quarter mile covered by grass instead of cement. Now, what's the more likely explanation: that the neighborhood is in the process of being converted from an industrial district into a residential zone, or that our future home is built on an Indian burial ground that can bring pets and humans back to life, but at a terrible price? That's a rhetorical question.

The most damning evidence of all is the fact that we're getting three floors, three bedrooms, one and a half bathrooms, central air, a dish washer, a refrigerator with an ice maker, and a washing machine and dryer for just over one thousand dollars a month. How can the property owners charge so little for so much?

How, indeed?