Six Bosnian Marks

However in life there’s always an exception, and in the case of this building, there’d be one odd ball, yet very intriguing person who were seemingly not playing with a full deck of cards. This handsome hero would turn out to be no one other than my new superintendent. And even though this guy from time-to-time would behave reasonably by say using land mines to protect his little garden and its tomatoes from non-domestic-groundhogs, for some reason, I could just sense that he were a little bit off. And although he seemingly were your typical mild-mannered Joe Blow, he’d shock you at times whenever he’d raise this voice so loud that you could actually hear him praying to god, just begging him for the ability to enjoy watching his landmines slowly and painfully eradicate his prey. And though his enigmatic charm cancelled everything out and then some, I could just sense that something weren’t quite right with this guy up on the top floor, which would make me wonder how seemingly one of the last remarkable individuals existing on this planet today definitely could be so completely off his rocker.
And though I could overlook that fact, I nonetheless couldn’t dismiss the fact I were somewhat struggling to settle in at this new apartment, so in an attempt to remedy my disharmony, I decided to let the local telephone line provider know that I wanted them to run a phone line and internet connection into my new apartment so I could call my mom back home in Canada, and perhaps even order used drywall on the internet. After a few days would pass, a company technician/spokesperson would eventually arrive and come inside of my apartment where he’d feel the need to start to monkeying around with some cables while belting out some chords. Yet, when playtime was up, he’d inform me that he couldn’t find the correct wire/cord, and hence he were going to require access to a certain cellar that were apparently equipped with a newly bolted-shut wooden door that would be attached to a couple of spectacularly-mounted hinges. This specific cellar however, weren’t your typical cellar as it emitted the most strangest of strangest of auras and feng-shuis; yet for my sake, and the sake of a phone and internet connection, I just had to acquire access to this mysterious cellar if I ever expected to survive. So after waiting a week to build up enough courage, I’d ultimately and stealthfully approach my cute, little, ugly landlord, and demand that she furnish me with a key, or at least a pair of bolt-cutters and a crowbar so I could gain access to this very cellar. This woman though, who claimed to be my landlord, would promptly, politely, efficiently, yet not so effectively inform me that my colourful and charming superintendent would be the one who in possession of the specific set of keys to that particular cellar, and possibly even a set of bolt-cutters, an automated rifle, and a crowbar, which at that point in time made me realize that I must’ve been nothing short of completely nuts.
Though luckily enough, perhaps I weren’t as nuts as I had presumed as suddenly it all became all too apparent to me that my eyes became suddenly opened, which instantaneously made me ask myself just “how could this guy live with himself by himself in rooms without sufficient closet space?” And though saying this to myself did initially send me into denial for a hours and days on end, I’d luckily enough accept the fact and truth as I were seeing it as it would become even more than obvious than ever that this freak of a superintendent is without a doubt burning dead bodies and human carcasses in that cellar and nothing more! And since that indeed would be the only logical and explainable explanation that would shed light on exactly why, on some cloudy or non-cloudy mornings, I’d hear the rolling of garbage bins, which oddly enough would be accompanied by the sound of a festively singing and merrily whistling jolly man. Though if this type of behaviour didn’t solidify my hypothesis and earlier suspicions pertaining to the suspiciously conspicuous activities and actions of this psychopath relating to the transferring of remains of bodies, and even possibly ashes on foggy or not so foggy mornings, what kind of behaviour would!? Or were my misgivings merely only suspicions? Yet if that were true, why at this very moment, were my misgivings concerning his behaviour nothing more than undeniable facts!? But quite honestly, what kind of normal person actually sings while transporting ashes and dust to better places? I could see sneezing, but singing!? So how sick were this guy really!? – So just how could he live with himself!?