Fiction writers use compulsory homicidal impulses to create modern fragmentary arts, murdering the same character over and over again, and this is what I do to Linda on bad days, in episodes stolen from Richard Roundtree, I snap her vertebrae. My favorite is fracturing her skull with my laptop, but despair has mitigated much of this into ridicule, being so damaged and unable to leave the epicenter of it, on top of a simple normal desire for change.
I am not looking for a condominium beyond my means: I'll sleep in a garage as long as its wired and street level. All I want is to stay out of North and West Philadelphia, with enough space for two wheelchairs, my desk, bed, and toilet facilities I can use, and no housing authority interference.
Liberty Resources and Presby and Septa, in combination, have railroaded me into oblivion. My family cannot help me return near them to Delaware County, can you? Isn't there something, someone, some resource out there which can offer me a new berth, for the love of god I deserve better than what Presby has done to me.
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