“Honey, the walls are bleeding
again.” Casey called from the kitchenette. I looked up from the
Gator's game and sure enough crimson streaks were dripping down my
freshly painted apartment walls.
“Gosh darnit! We are never going to
get our security deposit back.” I grumbled.
Casey walked in, wiping her hands with
a dish towel, and stood beside me. We surveyed the dark ooze with
dismay. “Maybe once it's dried I can put up some sort of a floral
border. Then the pink stains might look intentional. I just wish it
didn't smell so bad. It's like a rotting carcass. What must the
neighbors think?”
“I'm starting to think it's not the
plumbing after all.” I muttered. “I'll have a talk with the
people in the office today.”
My wife looked at me gratefully. “Oh
Morris, you're so proactive. I'm a lucky gal.”
