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First place that was ever mine, and mine alone, was an old cabin at a former fish camp. It was like $550 a month, right on a "tributary" to the St.Lucie waterway. It was way more rundown than that, but I had river view from my back porch. It was like 15ft away. Good old days, bad old days. Haven't quite figured that out yet. I definitely nailed some box there, but that could have been done anywhere really.

My first was a row house just outside DC in a gated neighborhood. The grocery store right around the corner was safe and where our community shopped and I was like premium meat when I went in there and constantly got poached by hot, upper-class cougars. They fell in love. Many of them begged me to come live with them all expenses paid but I never would. I was young and just figured out that I was a rambling man drifter and shortly after I hobo'd all over the US for a few years. It was good times. Had a few rough times but mostly good times. I lived in the snowy mountains. I lived as a beach bum in tropical places. I lived in the midwest by really big ass corn fields. I lived in the desert. I was free. Then I "grew up" and got in the rat race.

Huh, nice. Depending on how you count it, my first "apartment" was either a dirty mattress in the corner of a friend's family's house's unfinished basement, bootcamp "lodgings", or the condemned-and-soon-to-be-destroyed barracks.

My first apartment was an ‘executive’ studio, for the princely sum of 399 a month. The ‘master bedroom’ was furnished with a pile of laundry, which could be formed into a nest for slumber. Unless I wanted to watch my 13 inch tv, and then the laundry could be converted into a lounge chair. I had no furniture for a week after laundry day. Happiest time of my life.

Damn! I thought I had a nice gimmick with having my first little apartment about a decent potato-gun’s range away down the street from Beach Nuts, Katiki, and Hanks… easy pickings of the tourist girls….
But bringing them back to a mansion is one hell of an angle!

I used to hit up this club called the gallery on St. Pete Beach back in the late 80's. Good times! I rented rooms until I finished my undergrad, going to night school, banging nails during the day. Paid my dues

I moved into your first apartment a few years ago. I rearranged the furniture and gave the walls a new coat of white paint. Then I polished the door knob.

you can see the garage in my rear view mirror

How did fucking whores turn out for you?

Morphed into a wife with children?

Or herpes and an inability to value women enough to form lasting relationships?