This place is awesume. All of you whinny suberbanites are dorks who have rich mommys and daddys. Sure my loft is leaky, and my neighbors are busy having TANF payout day sex next door, but I am a struggling rapper, graphic designer, massage therapist, sculptor, and fashionista thug who enjoys indie music, riding out and faux hawks. I regularly walk to the MLK station and have not been killed yet, so stop complaining. These things don't bother a person like me. I believe that being an artist forgives a person's need to inject heroin, steal from cars or slap his male partner in the face. I don't care if the people in the leasing office smoke crack under there desks, as long as they dont call the cops when I get chronic seeds delivered from Ampsterdam.

Ever since I moved here from Marietta, I knew this was where cool people come to live and tell people where they live, since those people should know that living in a loft is not just a new trend that everyone is doing. Not that it is any less cool now that every apartment building is referred to as a loft. This is a *historic* loft, which means it is really OLD. When my AC bill is $300 or my toilet explodes, I can't help but think of how real I am keeping it. Maintenance and security are for whiny posers, that is why I live here with my five cats. What do you expect, a new building with recent building code standards. Don't be a nerd because your windows don't open. You won't live long enough if this place catches on fire anyway. Besides, my dad is a lawyer and I hate him, but I can hook you up. I live in 307.

Look, I pay $1100 a month to live here, which is more then most apartments. You are paying for the atmosphere and the appearance of being cool and struggling to survive. I don't care about our crappy gym, I am buff as hell already, so I don't go. I leave my trash in the hall because I am lazy, not becaust the dumster is full, even if it is. I don't have a car, and if I did it would be on dubs, so I doubt that thieves would fit them through the hole in the gate. I don't care if my windows don't open, because I hotbox that ---- when my bros and I smoke down while downloading obscure music to our ipods and photoshopping rave flyers.

I love salad dressing, btw. I exchange my indie hip-hop lyrics (which are tite) and avante-gard artwork with the Marzetti factory next door for Italian dressing and a drum of their Sucrose-12 every few weeks. I use it in my cereal, which I don't buy at Publix because that is for yuppies. If there is one thing that I learned before I failed out of GSU and AI Atlanta, is that good things are always expensive. People try to hate by saying that you are getting ripped off or paying for a name. But again, those people are yuppies who should move to Alphareta or Midtown.

Look, all I am saying is that if you live anywhere but here, you are ---. If you do live here and you complain, you are also ---. And you are a yuppie who isn't worth an urban outfitters wardrobe, ikea furniture, and a liberal arts degree. I bet you don't even know where little 5 points is.

This place is not as scary as the real ghetto, it is the fake ghetto. In the real ghetto, people don't have gates and probably pay like $300 a month for their apartments. They don't get maintenance or trash service and don't have a gym or good restaurants close to them like Daddy D's. They get robbed by there shady neighbors and don't have parking spaces. Most of all they have lots of factories and gravyards around them not just one.

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