In which The Narrator is informed that people still want to read this, and, in realizing he has nothing to say, instead recounts a tale from childhood.

When I was growing up I lived above a woman named Jan who was very fat and played the bagpipes. My family lived on the top two floors of the house, and she occupied the basement. I used to play in her yard all the time, because, due to my kindergarden idea of wealth and possession, since we lived in most of the house, all the yard should be mine. I was kind enough to allot her the small strip of weeds that ran down the east side of the house, which I also played in, but I never left my toys there, because that was her yard. I even let her keep some of her things in My Backyard. After all, even though I was six, I was still civil, and it helped that her doghouse made a wonderful ladder for me to get into my tree. Of course, every time I would climb into my tree she would release her dogs which were of a breed that I have never seen since and each were the size of tigers and had a taste for little boys. I would stay in that tree while she laughed, rolls jiggling, until she called off her hell hounds and returned to her bagpipes and I was able to run back to the front of the house to safety. I didn't like Jan. Once she let me try to play the bagpipes, but to prepubescent lungs this proves impossible. A fact which once again set her shaking like the green jello and marshmallow dish that my mother was convinced I loved. I didn't.  

When Jan moved out I declared a national holiday and promptly built a treehouse in My Backyard of staggering proportions using all the wood I could break off of our fence. I also moved into her apartment.

Upstairs, in my kitchen, was a terrifying door that had been painted over so many times you couldn't see the crack in the frame in some areas. It was also blocked by a table and several boxes and I was convinced that through that door came All Things Scary. As a child I was not often scared, except of course by the movie Pet Cemetery, and who wouldn't, and so it was no real challenge for me to move the boxes and the table, chisel away some paint and open the door. Once my mother found me in my newly claimed staircase she informed me that it led to Jan's apartment, which of course meant an Expedition was needed. The door at the bottom of the stairs was unlocked, but was slightly blocked by something on the other side. Being a small and spry Adventurer I squeezed myself through the small gap and found myself in Jan's vacated apartment. I also found myself mostly stuck behind an abandoned bookshelf. After being there for what I'm sure was months I was able to slowly squeeze into My New Apartment to find it was furnished with a slightly broken bookcase, two boxes containing things I no longer remember, a book of carpet samples, and several spoons. Over the next few days I moved out of my parents house and began moving things into My New Apartment. I took action figures, my pillow, and enough soda, crackers and candy to feed me until college. 

The next logical step was of course my housewarming party. This was carried out wonderfully thanks to Jimmy and Gabe, two brothers who looked nothing alike and lived around the corner from me. They were also the only two kids on the block who had their own television set. Once I told them about My New Apartment it was only a small matter of tricking their mother into leaving the house so we could go out the door with their tv. We planned for days and eventually decided that it was best to just wait for her to go to work and then hide the tv outside. Once darkness fell we would smuggle the tv around the corner and down the street to my house. The following night we did just that. The walk back to my house must have taken several hours and crossed many miles and the entire time I was convinced we would be jumped by any number of roving gangs with clever names, butterfly knives, and matching hats. Having executed our master plan to steal a television and eluding any potential turf war we returned to My New Apartment with the tv, which was joined shortly by my nintendo. We stayed up all night playing Galaga. 

As I sat there on my couch that looked suspiciously like a book of carpet samples eating candy from the bag with a spoon I felt sophisticated and adult. And I knew that I would never have a better apartment, regardless of how much fence wood I could steal.