12th East; Beginning of the End (from 6 Migrations; Relocations That Possibly Ruined My Life)

I moved into a duplex on 1200 East and around 600 South in my last year of college, it was near enough the university that I could have walked but I usually drove anyway, because I didn’t want to waste my parking pass and I worried that the manager of the duplex would do something strange to my car if I left it on the curb. He wasn’t a violent man, but he used power tools after midnight, and seemed to prefer to do his yardwork at around that time as well, and carried a fake gun wrapped with duct tape around with him and I therefore knew him to be not entirely reasonable.
But I knew that Waylon (name changed) wasn’t a violent man because if he had been I surely would have perished at his hands a few days after I’d moved in and poured a vat of spaghetti down the garbage disposal in the sink that had no garbage disposal and clogged the pipes and brought in Roto Rooter and I apologized to Waylon for the disaster and told him I would in the future make certain to pour the spaghetti down the drain with the garbage disposal, and he looked at me and I asked him; “which sink is the sink with the garbage disposal?” and he looked at me and then he pointed at the one that I’d poured the spaghetti down and I told him that I’d poured the spaghetti down that sink.
“Uh oh,” Waylon said. Then he installed a garbage disposal in the sink I’d poured the spaghetti down and he showed me the switch that I hadn’t been able to find the previous day after I’d poured the spaghetti because it hadn’t been there the previous day and I’d looked all over the kitchen for it like a defragmenting robot because I’d never lived away from home and could not conceive of a kitchen sink without a garbage disposal unless it was a sink that had another sink right next to it with the garbage disposal. Waylon flipped the switch and the disposal roared and he smiled at me like I was a child. “Hello,” he said beatifically, because he said that when he didn’t say “uh oh.” And I smiled and never poured anything down either sink but water as long as I lived there.
I shared my half of the duplex with a law student or maybe he was a pre-law student but he’d gone to school in Oklahoma for some reason, and learned how to mimic a southern accent there for Hook-up purposes and I can’t remember his name for sure but it may have been Sergei (name changed). I had some troubles with Sergei because all the women I knew seemed to like him a little too much and because he and his large hulking cousin would sometimes get drunk and pick up the Plymouth Champ I drove at the time and put it in places awkward for me to drive out of and in the morning they would be too sick to put it back and I would have to call my girlfriend and ask her to come get my car out of the tree.
I didn’t last at 12th East because I began to realize that with the move I’d taken my first few baby steps out from my mommy’s apron strings and out into the big real world and it felt horribly wrong, and Sergei began to remind me of my brothers and Waylon began wearing a salad bowl on his head and a lead apron whenever he used his PC and one day my girlfriend told me that it was almost a year since I’d moved out on my own and I began packing my dice and my stolen sci-fi paperbacks and my reams and reams of notebooks with secret notes and a few rotting shirts and moved the hell back home.