So... I was weighing and packaging up some hamburger I got on sale this weekend. David and I were in the kitchen, and the conversation went something like this:
Ellen (happily gabbing away): Isn't this new scale so cool? I found it in the top of Seth's closet when we moved in. It's electronic, and it'll give me the weight in tons of different ways, ounces, grams, pounds...
David: Hmm... Did you know that one of the things usually confiscated from dr*g d*al*rs houses is a digital scale? They use them to weigh the stuff before packaging it up.
Ellen: You're kidding. (looking frantically at the scale to make sure its clean, though I did put plastic wrap over it before putting the hamburger on there)
David: Find anything else up there?
Ellen: Just this fake street sign, still in the plastic. Can't quite remember what the name was on it, though...
As we were talking, I remembered that a well dressed man in a nice convertible had knocked on my door in the middle of the day a couple of months ago. He asked, "Is X here?" I informed him that X hadn't lived here for several months. I wondered briefly why he wouldn't know that his friend had moved many moons ago, and then I dismissed it from my mind.
The people who lived here before us were apparently odd birds, according to our next door neighbors. They kept pit bulls who gnawed up some of the wood on things, and they left in a hurry, leaving a bunch of junk behind for the landlord to carry away. That's when he got a rental company and some stricter renter standards, I think.
I checked the closet a few minutes ago. The name on the sign, gentle readers? Yup. It was a High St.
Smack me upside the head and call me clueless.