Real Estate Boy

by John Schoneboom

Jenkins shared a room and a bunk bed with little Grotty Edna. It was all very hard on the digestion and he wanted his own room more than he wanted even to be loved.

He spent many a sleepless night poring over real estate websites, paying special attention to floor plans and the quality of the back garden. Before long, he had become capable of conversation more stultifying than even the most seasoned real estate agent could muster.

Jenkins decided he didn't want to be a burden, so he decided to work on an invisibility formula. Next thing you know, he was nowhere at all.

Jenkins' father couldn't afford a proper private investigator, so he got Dirty Bobbins to go off looking for him. Eventually Jenkins emerged from a Chinese restaurant kitchen where he had learned how to measure water using his knuckles. His father was overjoyed.

There was quite a bit of hugging, with Father taking on even less blame than he rightfully deserved.

"All right now," said Jenkins, rolling up his sleeves. "I've got a plan."

And so it was that he substituted collateral on an owner carry-back and had a property resurveyed and established two lots, splitting one off at a simultaneous closing and pocketing the additional equity.

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 little Grotty Edna. It was all very hard on the digestion and he wanted his own room more than he wanted even to be loved.

He spent many a sleepless night poring over real estate websites, paying special attention to floor plans and the quality of the back garden. Before long, he had become capable of conversation more stultifying than even the most seasoned real estate agent could muster.

Jenkins decided he didn't want to be a burden, so he decided to work on an invisibility formula. Next thing you know, he was nowhere at all.

Jenkins' father couldn't afford a proper private investigator, so he got Dirty Bobbins to go off looking for him. Eventually Jenkins emerged from a Chinese restaurant kitchen where he had learned how to measure water using his knuckles. His father was overjoyed.

There was quite a bit of hugging, with Father taking on even less blame than he rightfully deserved.

"All right now," said Jenkins, rolling up his sleeves. "I've got a plan."

And so it was that he substituted collateral on an owner carry-back and had a property resurveyed and established two lots, splitting one off at a simultaneous closing and pocketing the additional equity.

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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