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Drugs, Debauchery, and Shysters Along the Mississippi Coast
I’m Finally Ready to Tell the Truth
An empty penis erection pill wrapper, an anal plug, and a handful of bullets sit on one of the shabby master closet shelves.
Welcome home, Bonnie.
Even my realtor is shocked. Thankfully, I’d shipped my teen son to Florida to stay with my mom so he could avoid the chaos of our move.
I’m horrified, disgusted, angry, and, sure, bemused.
The prior owners had blown off closing earlier in the day. I couldn’t do a walk-through because they were still moving out. I finally got access to the home a little after 5 pm.
The prior owners left the home in an unbelievable state — they were cruel and unapologetic.
They left rotting food in the kitchen fridge and outdoor fridge/freezer. There were holes in every room. It was as if someone had punched almost every wall. (I don’t think they literally punched all the walls; rather, they had ripped out any item on the wall. Nothing was carefully removed. Yank, yank, yank.)
I was left with extensive sheetrock repairs in the 2500-square-foot house. The one-car garage was so trashed that it took a crew of men four days to clear it out and patch/paint the damage.
