Children! Gather round ye olde campfire or whatever, and let me tell you a story from long ago, back in the days when people listened to Nickelback unironically.
When I was 20 (approximately a billion years ago, back before Myspace even existed, let alone Facebook), my two best friends and I moved in together into the top floor of a converted two storey house on Pepperell Street. The three of us were students at Dalhousie – Kat was doing a double major in political science and theatre, Iain was in the acting program, and I was a pretentious Classics brat – and we chose the apartment based on its proximity to the university, its relatively low rent, and the fact that it had “character.” It would take us a few months to realize just how much character this apartment had.
The building we lived in was old, dark and draughty, but in…
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