A stranger in a strange house

I had my misgivings approaching the house. I should probably say they were with me for most of the day. What could make a small room in a home in Brookline worth only $300 a month? Anyone would assume a residence of the unbalanced.

The allure of such a cost-of-living decrease attracted a surprising group of people, mainly due to the fact that the mysterious lessor had summoned eight people at the same time. A few had dressed themselves slightly below interview level to convey a sense of respectability while maintaining a casual air. The others seemed like they were simply wearing what they would wear any day. Cultivating an image probably never crossed their mind.

Our elusive host was not home, and as we milled about on the sidewalk I tried to judge my merits (apparent and not) against these competitors' knowing that my judgement was most likely incorrect and useless. I wasn't going to develop any sort of stratagem to push myself to the head of the pack for a landlord who can't be bothered to notify prospective tenants when he or she is going to miss a showing/interview. Eventually someone found an email about a family emergency and the need to reschedule. I never got it, and my follow up asking for another time to see the room went unanswered. Perhaps this was a twisted way to weed out the people who weren't invested in living in this tiny room, or a decision had already been made, but the landlord couldn't handle rejecting everyone who responded. I decided to leave, glad to miss the opportunity to live there.

A transformer on top of a telephone pole on the street was on fire when I arrived. One of the wires had fallen to the sidewalk and was also burning with that strange daylight flame that always disappoints. A firetruck pulled up and did nothing. I can't remember if it was still burning when I left.