I've Lived in a Brownstone-I've Lived in a Ghetto

By now the count of places I've called home or something quite like it is higher than I care to think. I've boomeranged home more times than most people have moved in life and that would mean that if I returned to the nest every time I moved from an apartment that's only half of the times I had to pack up my belongings and try to come up with the deposit on a new place. My guess, terrifying as it sounds, it approximately 12. No, I just did a count. It's 15. I've moved 15 times in under 10 years. Actually, most of them in the last 6 years. Every place has its own special quirk. I haven't yet lived somewhere without a calling card that reminds me of the time I spent living there.
(Side story-I was at the downtown library on Church St looking for a video today. Pickings are slim on Saturday afternoon, but I have noticed The Quiet Man has never been checked out anytime I've ever gone looking for DVD based entertainment. Whenever I see the Duke and Maureen O'Hara I think of being half conscious on a bus somewhere outside of Wexford on the way to Klonakilty waking up periodically and having semi-conherent conversations about that film that went something like: "Is that what women really are supposed to be looking for then? A man to throw them over his shoulder and carry her off to wedding bliss?" "Oh sure, and every man is looking for a woman to toss around. Women's lib was a big mistake." "Here I was trying to win men with my intelligence and personality." "Big mistake, just let them slap you around, you'll meet the perfect man." "Ahh, it all makes sense." Then we'd both fall back asleep.)
OH! But I was talking about apartments.
Apt #1
Wasn't actually an apartment. It was a room. In a rooming house. I thought it was a rooming house. You know, like Barney lived in on the Andy Griffith Show. I must've misread the memo. It was a halfway house. Right. So there's me. 19 and confused and struggling to grow up following a rather traumatic string of events and I find myself living in a halfway house with crazies and drug addicts and godonly knows what kind of sex crime offenders. I had to share a bathroom. I don't remember using it the whole couple of weeks I lived there. A weird recently released felon-a mother raper maybe a father raper maybe