“I keep smelling marijuana in the hall,” she said. “I think it’s coming from apartment five.”
“Call the cops next time you smell it,” the landlord said. “They’ll take care of it.”
I don’t think Pam ever called the cops. She’s more the type to just complain.
Yesterday morning, Pam knocked on my door.
“Hey,” she said. “You got any kind of, you know, rolling papers?”
“You rolling your own cigarettes now?” I asked. She just looked at me for five or so seconds.
“I don’t know,” she finally said.
“You don’t know if you’re rolling your own cigarettes?”
“No, I’m not doing that,” she replied.
“I don’t have any rolling papers,” I said, not giving a damn what she was doing. With a smile on my face, I politely closed the door.
Pam lives on the second floor. Taking my trash out that afternoon, I thought I smelled marijuana coming from up there. I have a sensitive nose too.
Was it Pam smoking pot or the people in apartment five? Probably Pam. I thought about calling the cops, but decided it wasn’t worth my time.
(Photo provided by Pam who lives on the second floor)