Dear little brown mouse, house guest of Apartment 17,

I do not hate you because you are a mouse. on the contrary, I really kind of like mice. I've had mice as pets. I saw your face once, I thought you were pretty cute. I even ordered you a no kill mouse trap, so I can release you into the park.

That having been said. Can you stay out of my room? There is no food in there for you. zero food. I swear. I know its a little messy, but actually that makes it all the more creepy to me that you're in there. and all the more dangerous. Cause what if I step on you? I'm kind of a giant compared to you.

I know you're just trying to do your thing and all, and I can respect that, but the thing is, I sleep on the floor, and I just flat out don't want you in my bed. No offense. I just have this people only rule for my mattress. And I don't trust you not to cross that line for a few reasons. Well, three reasons. Firstly, I don't know you that well, so we haven't had time to establish a bond, or share secrets or any of that. Secondly, you're a wild city mouse, and you probably live by your own rules. Third, you don't know what a bed is.

Sure, I could pick my shoes up off the floor, and put my bed together, and not have to worry about you so bad. But I don't want to. Its my right to live on the floor like a hippy. I pay six hundred and fifty five dollars a month plus utilities for that right, and you don't, and you making me sleep on the couch is just flat out rude. There I said it. You're rude. and I want you to get out of my room until I can trap you in about three days. I promise you'll be happier in the park anyway. Plenty of people sleep there, but they're homeless, so who cares.

Love,
Amanda

Dear guy who comes in RIGHT AS WE ARE CLOSING and then behaves like a BAG OF CUNTS at least once a week,

You come in RIGHT AS WE ARE CLOSING and then you BEHAVE LIKE A TOTAL BAG OF CUNTS at least once a week. You must know how fucking ridiculous that is. So please stop.

love,
Amanda

Dear freak backpack lady,

Where did you get such a total freak backpack? No, seriously, answer me. I need to know. Its not that I want one. its just that I need to make sure there aren't more people like you out there, buying these fucking ridiculous backpacks. Rubber spikes? really? rubber spikes? I could see real spikes. I mean, for self defense, or for really funny accidents on packed subway cars. And I could see rubber. No wait. I can't. Its a fucking backpack, it shouldn't be rubber. It just doesn't make any sense to me. Does it transform into a tire maybe? does it transform into an entire car? Is your backpack a decepticon? That might make me feel a little better about it I guess.

love,
Amanda

P.S. It was really gratifying to me to hear that you have embarrassing blisters. Not because you've ever been rude, but I really wanted to buy some crackers when you were at my register and I think your weird fetish act blisters are God's way of thanking me for my time.