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Landlord’s Perogative

April 26th, 2010 by the_lifer

Wazzer lives in a rented bungalow in Kilbirnie with a manicurist, a call center worker, and a security/guard bouncer. (Yes, a female bouncer. Be very afraid.) In their late thirties to early forties, they have moved beyond most flatmate dramas: their occasional squabbles have a sisterly tone.  There are also two potbellied cats, tabby and calico.

They’re proud of the place.  “It’s a real home, not a student flat,” they say. Fresh slipcovers hide any sofa sins. The bathroom puts most pharmacies to shame. A vast flat-panel TV dominates the living room, where the flatmates gather for frequent shared dinners. Wazzer has generously placed one of her bookcases in the hall, so the flatmates can read her werewolf romance novel collection. Thanks to a heat pump, it’s even warm in the winter.

But that is about to change. Wazzer, that morning, signed for a registered letter that turned out to be the landlord’s official end-of-tenancy notice. His brother is moving back from Australia and the landlord wants him to have the house instead.

Wazzer smacks the wall and swears. Another flatmate, half-dozing in the room on the other side, moans, “Waz! What’s up?” Wazzer tells her.

The sigh from the other side of the wall is philosophical. “Happens when you rent a nice place in Wellington.”

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