We got a call Friday night. It was nude dancer. He wouldn't be able to come and pick up his things until Monday or Tuesday, sorry sorry sorry, and Serge, bless his heart said, "we can't trust anything you say anymore and we need to get that place rented." Remember we had left him a message Wednesday saying he had until Saturday to come get his shit. So he promised to come Monday (or Tuesday) and also promised to pass by Saturday to give us some money (it was a lie but I don't think he can help himself).
I decided not to wait. So I went up yesterday with trash bags and Windex and started on the kitchen. The details of his life were displayed in the pile on the kitchen table. A pile of garbage seemingly, cigarette butts, junk mail, rolling papers, food wrappings, mail, papers of various kinds. Here is a letter we gave him a month ago, torn in two. Here is a notice stating that the cut off of his welfare payments would be December 1st. Here is a three month Cocaine Anonymous chip. Here are the divorce papers and the judge's decree for spousal/child support. (He has a boy with a name that begins with "Z".) Here is his 6 month CA chip. Here is a letter from a roommate: "I have to go because I can't tolerate the mess anymore. Maybe I'll see you at a meeting." Here is the notice of revocation of his driving license. Here is his wedding picture. Here is a mirror with white powder remnants on it.
And as I cleaned the filth in the kitchen, the rotting matter in the sink and the cat turds on the floor, I felt terribly sad. I had no remorse for the action we're taking but I just hate seeing someone's life go into the toilet.
Today we're boxing up his personal stuff and moving it into the garage.