old country house kitchen apartment on this day in 1982.

A local scumbag lawyer owned the place and charged me exorbitant rent (over 1/2 my meager teacher salary-$275 for a kitchen, "bathroom", and converted dining room.). I remember that his secretary, a non-reformed flower child who was about 40 years old with long straight black hair down her back almost to the top of flowing ankle dress, went out back to smoke a joint. On her way back, she knocked on my door (the kitchen door) to "check on" me. At the time, I was a springy looking young newt 5'10" 145lbs. I looked about 14 years old. She pressed her way onto me and began thrusting herself along my body like a dog scratching fleas. Truly, this was my Mrs. Robinson moment. Thankfully, I fought her off and rebuffed her advances. For the next 12 months of this lease, I lived in fear. Lesson: Pot is evil.