Don't know what prompted me to post this on Instagram last night, but I figured why not do it here as well?
This was the first place in SF my ex and I shared after moving from Tucson. It was a building that was being renovated by a friend of the architect I was working for at the time.
Bernie and I had already gone our separate ways by this time, but we decided to try living as roommates to see how it went. We were still friends after all, and the parting had been amicable.
There are lots of memories associated with this flat, but one that stands out above all the others was the night the owner (who lived on the third floor) decided to clean oil stains off the new garage floor with gasoline. Seeing how this was a recipe for disaster, we called the fire department and upon arrival the fire captain screamed at him for the stupidity. "We have a half dozen homes go up every year because of this kind of stupidity!"
Needless to say our relationship with the landlord went downhill from then. The following June, when we put a pride flag on the front of the house he demanded it be taken down because we had "modified the exterior" by attaching the flagpole to the exterior of the building. We complied, and then hung the flag in the front window.
When it came time to renew the lease, he raised the rent an exorbitant amount (3-unit buildings did not fall under the maximum 4% annual increase clause in San Francisco), and after discussing everything that had happened since the gasoline night (including his continually yapping rat-dog that he would put out on the back fire escape) we decided it was time to move on.
Love lady.