is there grass in heaven?

Here's a tour very few people have been on: let's visit the disturbed mind of the guy who was evicted from my apartment before I moved in.



The one who scratched his genius musings into the walls of my bedroom.



Sometimes I wonder if they're some sort of code, that if I deciphered would lead me to a buried treasure.



Who knows what sort of things he might have stashed.



We owe the fact that we have brand-new carpeting to him. And I cover the creepiest scratches with my own notes. Like this one for my roommate that will make you glad you're not my roommate:



I changed the name of the place I ran to because it's the best route and I don't want it to get crowded. With stalkers who will tie me to train tracks.