Real Estate Boy

by John Schoneboom

Jenkins shared a room and a bunk bed with a morbidly bookish alligator. It was all very horrifying and he wanted his own room in the worst way.

He spent many a sleepless night poring over real estate websites, paying special attention to prices relative to other homes in the neighborhood and the quality of the back garden. Before long, he had become a true master of the art of title chains and proceedability.

Jenkins decided that the situation was intolerable, so he decided to hide. Next thing you know, he was everywhere his nowhere could permeate.

Jenkins' father went straight to the pool hall and asked Spanish Tony and Eddie the Russian if they'd heard anything about a lone boy surviving in the nearby wild lately. Eventually Jenkins gave up and walked voluntarily out of the cow manure paddy where had been studying pinochle with a small group of Vietnamese peasants. His father fell to his knees with joy and pity.

There was the emotional sort of reunion one might expect, with Father taking on even more blame than he rightfully deserved.

"Enough!" said Jenkins, looking like some sort of sudden real estate wheeler dealer. "I've got a plan."

And so it was that he substituted collateral on an owner carry-back and raised a down payment by splitting off fixtures and land with a realtor carry-back for icing on the cake.

They were sitting pretty and they knew it. Ten years down the line, they'd look back and wonder what on earth they were laughing about.
Jenkins shared a room and a bunk bed with a morbidly bookish alligator. It was all very horrifying and he wanted his own room in the worst way.

He spent many a sleepless night poring over real estate websites, paying special attention to prices relative to other homes in the neighborhood and the quality of the back garden. Before long, he had become a true master of the art of title chains and proceedability.

Jenkins decided that the situation was intolerable, so he decided to hide. Next thing you know, he was everywhere his nowhere could permeate.

Jenkins' father went straight to the pool hall and asked Spanish Tony and Eddie the Russian if they'd heard anything about a lone boy surviving in the nearby wild lately. Eventually Jenkins gave up and walked voluntarily out of the cow manure paddy where had been studying pinochle with a small group of Vietnamese peasants. His father fell to his knees with joy and pity.

There was the emotional sort of reunion one might expect, with Father taking on even more blame than he rightfully deserved.

"Enough!" said Jenkins, looking like some sort of sudden real estate wheeler dealer. "I've got a plan."

And so it was that he substituted collateral on an owner carry-back and raised a down payment by splitting off fixtures and land with a realtor carry-back for icing on the cake.

They were sitting pretty and they knew it. Ten years down the line, they'd look back and wonder what on earth they were laughing about.
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