time waits for no one
Rob had quickly become something of a nuisance to many local estate agents in the Oxford area. Claiming to be looking for a living space in the interests of helping a "somewhat indisposed friend", as he had somewhat pathetically put it, he had realised that diving into this matter with no knowledge of Julian's financial status or potential tax brackets. He also had no idea what Julian's tastes and preferences were; as a result of this, initially cheerful seeming estate agents quickly turned a little sour.
A combination of nerves and fear of seriously damaging something (or someone) had led Rob to turn to newspapers. This in turn led to his purchasing every newspaper with a decent property section he could find. Now he was somewhat feebly attempting to open his still broken front door with a few lousy and wobbly kicks. The money Julian had given him was still on the kitchen counter, as Rob had felt some strange compulsion to avoid it at all costs.
Rob spent most of the evening lurking around in the house, trying to make it look vaguely more presentable than the other night. He was never quite sure whether to refer to this place as a house or an apartment. It was only one floor, but he was fairly sure that upstairs was just a storeroom for the little shop next door. It was sort of a house, but has the dingy state of an apartment. Bubbly damp in a corner by the fridge, peeling wallpaper that Rob had tried to salvage - in vain - with a few poorly placed strips of sticky tape.
At least it was sort of tidy now.
A little.
Ish.
A combination of nerves and fear of seriously damaging something (or someone) had led Rob to turn to newspapers. This in turn led to his purchasing every newspaper with a decent property section he could find. Now he was somewhat feebly attempting to open his still broken front door with a few lousy and wobbly kicks. The money Julian had given him was still on the kitchen counter, as Rob had felt some strange compulsion to avoid it at all costs.
Rob spent most of the evening lurking around in the house, trying to make it look vaguely more presentable than the other night. He was never quite sure whether to refer to this place as a house or an apartment. It was only one floor, but he was fairly sure that upstairs was just a storeroom for the little shop next door. It was sort of a house, but has the dingy state of an apartment. Bubbly damp in a corner by the fridge, peeling wallpaper that Rob had tried to salvage - in vain - with a few poorly placed strips of sticky tape.
At least it was sort of tidy now.
A little.
Ish.