Smoking Cell
OK. Enough with the hotel roundups. I’ve finally moved into my ugly little furnished apartment – or as I have quickly come to call it, my Smoking Cell (and yes sometimes I replace that “c” with an “h”). Not only was there a miscommunication about the concept of “furnished” that has resulted in me needing to hunt down a TV and all kitchen items, there is an added surprise: a steady stream of cigarette smoke is seeping in from the apartment downstairs.
Everything reeks: my towels, clothes and hair smell like smoke – hell, even my food is sadly reminiscent of my childhood favorites, the Smokie Links. Plus my throat aches and my sinuses are throbbing.
So now I am on the hunt for a) duct tape b) air purifier and c) an entire kitchen’s worth of supplies.
Four months can’t go by fast enough.