It’s so exciting to see the housing market in a slump when one is not an owner of a house. My landlord has been bending over backwards lately trying to keep me comfy and cozy in the Bedford-Stuyvesant roach motel he calls an apartment. Yesterday a new Refrigerator arrived, a few days prior he installed a new Stove in the place. It heats me up when landlords think they are doing a big favor by providing what the law demands they offer tenants. “Now keep this stove clean,” he insisted as he attached the gas line to the shiny white Kenmore awaiting my grease stains. He slid the old stove and all that baked in flavoring out the door. Years of burned on stains that even Easy Off couldn’t budge were cleaned out in one easy push. The refrigerator does not fit under the space carved in the cabinets but I told him to have the damn thing delivered anyway. “Lenox—have them bring the ice box. This one has been dripping non stop for the five years I have lived here. Look, the water has rotted the kitchen floor. I’ll sit it in the living room if I have to, but you better give me a new refrigerator too or I’m reporting you to the IRS. Wait a minute, it’s not my stove, it’s yours. It stays here when I leave. What the hell is wrong with you cheap bastard? I have paid you $1,400 a month in cash for five years now. Stop snorting my rent money up your fucking nose!” “How about a dish washer, Charles?” “Stop trying to bribe me! I want two free months rent or I am writing HUD, the agency who gave your Black ass the loan for this place and ask them why you cannot accept a personal check for my monthly rent.” A dish washer arrived this morning. Life is good in the hood.