Yeah, theres hardly enough room to stretch my legs in this little dump, let alone run around. And my gun? Forget it.
I don’t get why the asshole upstairs is allowed to blast his shitty music through the paper mache excuse for walls at god knows what hour but the minute I so much as fire a single warning shot into the ceiling, I’m suddenly the bad guy.
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I don’t get why the asshole upstairs is allowed to blast his shitty music through the paper mache excuse for walls at god knows what hour but the minute I so much as fire a single warning shot into the ceiling, I’m suddenly the bad guy.
[Are you sure you don’t get why, Bulleta?]