Oh, where to begin. How about with the upstairs ganster Jerry Springer neighbors who listened to their porno so loud (at 3 a.m.) I could hear it through the ceiling. When they weren't at home watching porno, they were busy scaling down the back of the building onto our patio in an effort to escape the "other woman" who was screaming obscenities at their front door. Or maybe we could tell you about the punk kids who lived upstairs on the other side of the building who would throw wild parties every night of the week and then use our front door as their porcelain altar. Not to mention the maintenance problems from day one including: no hot water for a week; stove that would shoot sparks; leaking ice maker; rusty, broken washing machine; bathroom ceiling vent that would leak when upstairs neighbors bathed; terrible parking; NO police patrol, even though we were told that an officer lived on site; hoodlums from adjoining neighborhoods who would hop the fence all hours of the day and night; regularly overflowing dumpsters; and stoner maintenance guys who welcomed us to "party central" then locked themselves in the bathroom to get high while they painted. Broken promises galore. Luckily we were able to get out after 6 weeks.

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