When I peered through my peephole, there was my landlord, Jared Thomason, himself. As I opened the door to greet him, I was met with the unmistakable sight of a man who had let himself go. His sweat-stained shirt clung to his massive belly, and his pants were unbuttoned and barely hanging on. His thinning hair was slicked back, and his beady eyes scanned me up and down, leaving me feeling exposed and uncomfortable.
