I KNOW WHERE ELLIOT LIVES. The Grand Punk Palace. Haven to spoiled rich kids playing poverty tourism. I know this because I lived with them for a few months. This was years ago, practically another lifetime. I know every bastard that lives there. Their miserable faces are etched into my memory. There was Emma, who owns the “anarchist” bookstore Left Bank Books. She ran it as her own private, for-profit business so she wouldn't have to work a real job. Then there was Nolan, the depressive stoner who tried to get his dog high on the reg. They were both pretty racist in the flesh.

One time they were interviewing a potential black roommate. She written the house in an email that she “won't tolerate any anti-blackness” in her new space. Pretty simple request. How do you fuck that up? Lemme tell ya. She comes in to meet the roommates and they say, I kid you not, “we don't know what 'anti-blackness' is. So if we do or say something racist, you have to tell us.” It gets worse. Then there was the fact they chose Maple Leaf to live in because they “wanted to live in a white neighborhood... ya know, to not contribute to gentrification.”

Then there was Zeppy, the serial abuser who everyone in the queer community warned people not to date. A fucking bitch on wheels. She pretended that was a poor outcast. One day her rich aunt, who had dyed blue hair, visits her. Auntie dearest bought her brand new docs, easily 200 bucks. Zeppy did an exaggerated act about how grateful she was. Pretending not to be a spoiled little shit. Another fun story was when she got a write up at work that she left on the kitchen table. The call center she worked at had a lot of choice words to say cus she forgot she hadn't put a customer on hold when she shit talked him. They weren't happy that she yelled at people who weren't vegan when they ordered a pizza. But enough about them.

My plan is simple, allegedly, at least by my standards. Figure out schedules, find out whose room is whose, and plant the poison I have left. First I checkout Elliot's social media crap to figure out what room he's in. Then, when he's out, I break into their place and sprinkle it with the poison powder. Lastly I let the fucker rot. But also I have a backup plan in case shit goes sideways. Again. I tell Astrid to steal a Blue Lives Matter flag from her neighbor and bring it with her. Just incase there's a shoot out and I need people to frame. Two birds, one stone.

First step complete, cus looking up social media is something you can do while sleeping. A quick look reveals Elliot is staying in the basement room. This makes life a lot easier. That basement is near the backdoor. Those jackasses call it the “door vortex.” A cluster fuck of doors near the back entrance. The first door to your right leads to the basement. The first one to your left leads to the kitchen. From there, the next door to your right goes to the upstairs, and the other bedrooms... yeah, it's a cluster fuck. But the most important thing is that their house has a back alley. One that's pitch black when the sun goes down.

I try to figure out who the other roommates might be and what their schedules are. I see a few faces on their posts from months ago. People who might be their roommates. They have like 3 other U-Dub kids, who are probably going to rarely be home. I don't give a shit, as they'll be hiding in their rooms or in the living room getting high. I ain't worried about them spotting me. Nolan works construction, gets home at 3, and passes out. So he's out of the equation. Zeppy works till 9pm. Elliot's a barista who occasionally cleans bathrooms for rich people. I figure 5pm is perfect to break in. Nobody will be home. Poison the fucker's room and bounce. Easy peasy. Plus the basement doubles as a band rehearsal space, so a strange punk coming and going won't raise any suspicion. It's also soundproofed, so if a fight goes down no one will hear it.