Bad news comes from the roommates back in Brooklyn - two out of three have started getting bites. Shit. Bad news.
I call my landlord on the phone, at first he's annoyed I called his cell phone, until he hears the problem. I hear from the exterminator that night, who promises to come over later the next day to inspect. I can't be there, but I pass on the word to my roommates. Meanwhile, my girlfriend goes back to Brooklyn.
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