She was having trouble making ends meet, and said she wanted to take on a roommate to share expenses. She had a nice little apartment in a cozy little complex in Santa Monica, and it seemed like it would be a good deal for both of us. The other people I worked with warned me about her, saying she was really weird and crazy, and that I shouldn’t move in with her. I’d never had any problems with her, and I can generally get along with anybody, so I thought they were just being alarmist. She said she’d gotten permission from her landlord to have a roommate, so it was all on the up-and-up. Her apartment had only one bedroom, but it had two twin beds, so I accepted that. I didn’t have much in the way of furniture or anything anyway, so it worked out for me. I paid my rent to her on time and paid my share of the utilities and phone bill. I cleaned up after myself. I didn’t bring any friends over. I wasn’t loud or messy or anything. I tried to be considerate of her sleep schedule and other things. I got a paper to look for rental listings, but when I went to call about one of the places, I discovered that the phone was dead.
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