Second story

I lived in a place called the Sacajawea Lodge. It was an old pre-WWI brick place with 13 apartments in it. Mine was one of the smallest, but it was on the second floor. There were the usual assortment of students living there- the best was the German exchange student next door whose name reminded me of Augustus Gloop (I won't share, since it wouldn't be nice). He was kind of loud when engaging in play with his pimply girlfriend. He listened to that insipid song about Vincent Van Gough a lot.

Anyhew- the landlady was a member of the largest landowning/realty family in Missoula. And a total crackpot. She had the large pine trees removed from the front yard of the place and proceeded to let the front yard become a weed nest. All while telling me about the improvements she was making to the place. The kicker was the day I got up and saw her in the front yard watering the weeds in her nightgown. This was on one of the busiest streets in town. She didn't live in the building either. She was talking to herself while she wandered around with the hose. Silly lady.