Rented by: Slim
Other residents call him Slim. That’s the name written in marker across the name badge he wears over his Radio Shack uniform (the only clothes anyone EVER) sees him in). There’s little too his apartment. Discarded papers, letters, and pamphlets carpet the floor. The room has gone largely unfurnished. Unfurnished, that is, except for a mini fridge, a tarnished wood computer desk, and the ancient PC/dot-matrix printer combo that sits on it.
Then there are the televisions. Dozens of old tube televisions lay about the apartment floor – always on and always spewing static and white noise from useless analog antennae. The floor and all of its filth remain constantly illuminated by the flickering screens. Slim hasn’t bought a light bulb in years. A large transmitter sits in the corner near the window.
Slim spends most of his days away from the apartment. He presumable works but no other residents have ever actually seen him anywhere near the local Radio Shacks. Occasionally he will be spotted carrying home grocery bags containing electronics parts. The only food he’s ever been seen with is rainbow marshmallows and diet root beer.
At night the television lights can be seen glowing beneath Slims door but he never leaves. Sometimes the night owls of the apartment building say they hear a strange rambling voice break through on their radios and TVs. Those few that have actually spoken to Slim say the voice seems awfully familiar.