The power of a single cockroach

I give my landlord notice to vacate the flat. He arranges his bull-dog face into something that I assume should be concern.

Is it the leaking pipes, he asks. I tell him, no, the last time my carpet got soaked, it was sunny, I hung it out in the sun to dry. Is it the overflowing sewage outside my kitchen window? I say no, the smell of shit  chased my appetite away, and I’m now six kilos lighter for it.

I don’t tell him that  I’m being driven out by the cockroach I found this morning, comfortably ensconced in my underwear drawer.

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