The Honeymoon House

The honeymoon house was free. Anything can be free if no one knows you're there. Don't call us squatters, that's derogatory. I wouldn't call you that, even though the bank probably owns your house.

I'm a practical man. I see an opportunity and I take it. Getting in wasn't the hard part. That was the animal carcasses. But I had plenty of time to clear those out.

The electricity wasn't on either, but isn't that why candles were invented?

There was a good amount of furniture and whatnot left behind by the previous occupants and it hardly smells at all. "That couch doesn't stink", I say, "that's just the aroma of settled memories." The fridge stank, though, they always do. So I lugged it down to the cellar where I use it as a tool cabinet. I'm a practical guy, see?

Borrowed a broom off a porch down the street (I will return it, I promise). Swept that place out from stem to stern. Patched a hole in the kitchen ceiling with a road sign I found. See? Practical.

Her name is Ingrid. She's my bride. She has a good sense of humor. Lets me call her Offgrid.

We think it's funny.

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--Cleemis J. Mudd, Man of the People