You know me, I don't like to complain

I had an apartment in Fairfax, Virginia where I had a very interesting neighbor named Kirby.

One night, I think after watching Fatboy Slim do a set at Buzz in DC, my friend Ben Brown and I came back home late to crash at my place. It was probably around 3am.

That night we met my new neighbor, Kirby.

Kirby was a standup comic out of Chicago, who had polaroid photographs of him partying with Chris Farley in a hotel room overlooking the Loop.

I will skip the fantastically surreal conversation and associated antics but only to tell you about the most interesting aspect of Kirby’s personality.

Kirby’s entire apartment was decorated as if it were a room in a Holiday Inn.

The rugs, the console TV, the amazingly tacky couch and loveseat, the absolutely horrifying pattern on the “bed spread”. It was something no average human being could possibly endure.

But Kirby was used to spending a lot of time on the road. In goofy hotels. And I suppose no matter where he was while on the road, he always felt at home.