When I was first shown the shitty studio apartment at 220 East 19th, there was a crackhead passed out in the building entry way with Fritos spilled all over herself. I knew right then that this was going to be an interesting place to live. Most people probably would have said ”no thanks” and walked away right then. But not me. Living with my relatives was making it increasingly tough to have sex with girls and I had grown tired of going for a walk every time I wanted to partake in the time-honored tradition known as smoking pot. Plus, I could have my dog, Dylan in this place. And it wasn’t the suburbs, which I had promised myself at a very young age that I would never live. Besides, Fritos aren’t a bad snack; and they’re probably like a pounder burrito to someone who hasn’t eaten in a week. Who am I to judge? I said fuck it and signed a lease.
Aside from three horrendous, whining-at-the-door-please-get-me-the-fuck-outta-here hours, Dylan never lived with me. I couldn’t do that to him. Despite it being one of the only affordable pet-allowed rental neighborhoods in the city, Stevens Community is no place for a dog. I always felt bad for all the dogs I saw around the park. Including the Rottweiler named Conan that bit me in the ass after an intense stare down betwixt us. (The pussy waited until I was walking away.) Several times I wanted to walk up to the just-once-around-the-block-take-a-shit-now!-so-I-can-go-back-to-watching-TV dog walkers and tell them they were fucked up assholes for forcing a dog to live in an apartment. (Or for letting their pussy-ass Rottweiler bite me in the gluteus maximus.) Of course, maybe they weren’t so fortunate to have a wilderness-bound mother willing to take care of their dog. Dylan went to live with Mom up north.
I stayed in Stevens.
For five long years.
Despite never getting used to the crackheads, crack dealers, crackwhores and unfortunate asshole dog-owners, I still had a lot of good times there. I got to have sex with some girls; and was finally able to once again get high from my own couch…which may or may not have resulted in the consumption of several bags of Fritos.
220 E 19th St, Mpls, Mn, '00-'01
Jesus, look at that vinyl spread. Atmosphere's Lucy Ford EPs, Lifter Puller-Fiestas & Fiascoes, Dillinger Four-Midwestern Songs of the Americas, Quincy Punx-Nutso Smasho and both the early Menstrual Tramps 7 inches. What a fucking scenester.