Over the past few years hes done some odd things. Constantly loosing his keys and needing for me to let him in, repeatedly knocking on my door every five minutes to thank me for letting him in. . .Offering a fist full of unwrapped frozen steaks to me in a torn paper bag to say thanks for letting him in (with a massive glob of some sort of petroleum jelly on his brow no less).

Last few nights ago he comes to my door asking to borrow my key to go pay his rent, hes in plaid pj bottoms and some light jacket with tennis shoes on, it was -20 something windchill and snow on the ground for this block of a walk hes about to take. Glancing down I notice he has a massive silver handgun in some holster attached to his hip. WTF. We are in a locked building in the deep suburbs, nothing happens around here. I nearly made some joke about how he didn't need a gun to borrow my key, but anything other than direct to the point speech is confusing to him.

I'm guessing he owned it before his injury 6 years ago. . .so fuck it I'm out. Time to move!