You may now kiss the title transfer.

It took 9 months and $650 worth of reluctant price reductions but I have finally done it. Sold it to a stout, friendly Harley Davidson riding, grizzly beard and yellow-tinted sunglasses wearing man, who I will call Dan, because that was his name. He offered me $350 and I said, "Thank You." He took me to a notary public in Wilmerding to whom he always goes. I was expecting a bland office, maybe next to the Dollar Bear, the kind with the gray pavement-like carpet, adorned minimally with calendar, framed documents, pictures of his kids and grand kids - I think you know the type. Instead we got a guy sitting on a recliner, feet atop a brown leather ottoman watching Disney, while his twin bed, made of course, sat within leg's length. The room was divided, though, so not completely fucked. We entered the 'office', which was about five feet away from where he sat, in between this a waist high wall, covering half of the opening, pretended to make the office an office and the living room a living room, but we all knew what was going on here. He ran a notary from his makeshift basement living room. And his turquoise t-shirt, which was obviously designed to destroy anyone's sense of rationality, read "That's Mayor Coochie to you!" I just tried to ignore the shirt and hoped, in spite of where I was sitting, that this was going to go quickly.

It turns out that Coochie is his nick name. This I learned from a plaque on the bar-cum-'where the copier goes now'. And it turns out that Coochie knows how to make haste. Out of there in 10 minutes, all told. As I left I looked back at a sign near the door that read, "I do Marriages." Could you imagine? I now pronounce you Depressed and Regretful, you may watch Disney in my twin bed.