I walk into the old man’s house and shudder. Who would do this willingly? Trash lies in heaps everywhere. I thought people with OCD were neat freaks! The cupboards and drug cabinets are labeled. Even the fridge is labeled! And I have to clean the whole place for this man I don’t even know.
“Might as well get to work.” I mutter. Walking into the living room I notice a strange stench coming from the laundry lying on the couch. I had assumed it was clean seeing that it wasn’t in a hamper, but from the smell I think differently.
The bathroom, just the same, is littered with old clothes. The same smell swirls in the air around me. I see a litter box, but no cat. Awkward!
I stand outside the bedroom door, not daring to go in just yet. I take a few deep breaths and push the door. The wall is covered in pictures. The faces scare me. I want to run, to get away, but I get a better idea. One by one I tilt the pictures slightly. That will drive the old man crazy. I look at my crooked masterpiece. Now I can clean happily.