Wanted: Roommate

As the start of a new accademic year draws ever closer we find ourselves caught in a frantic search for rooms. We lucky returning students have found nests to settle in, but the flock of newcomers is overwhelming. As it is every year. Fascinatingly no one is able to really facilitate the process. There are some student based incentives which are producing meager results, and meager outweighs none, but the problem persists from year to year. We have come to expect the yearly increase in students and the inevitable similarities between the new students and a pack of piranhas.
Imagine, then, our situation when we heard that one of our roommates was moving out. On the one hand we felt a powerful desire to help at least one new student find a roof under which to recuperate from the debauchery that is the nightly standard during any university introductory week. On the other hand the piranha metaphor gained a surge of ground in reality. We soldiered on anyway and placed an advertisement on a website. Within two hours we were forced to remove the advertisement since we were getting swamped with requests for our now empty room. After spending an afternoon working through the mess we had happily launched ourselves into we now have a prospective new roommate. She will presumably visit at some point to ensure that i have not overstated the virtues of the available broomcupboard.
All this releases the memories of our own frenetic hunt for anything with a roof and enough floorspace for a matrass. Although in my case my nomadic history helped out. I was living abroad at the time and due to the impossibility of a commute was immediately awarded the room of my choice. My very poor choice which I have since remedied I might add. My current home houses far more agreeable characters and, in fact, they deserve mention.
Dear reader, in order to prevent them coming after me like villagers from a certain Mary Shelly novel, I will furnish them with masks as contrived as my own. One of my best friends here is Little John. As with the merry man who served at Robin Hood's right hand, do not judge him by his name. He does his litterary predecessor justice in more ways than one. Also we have Echo, a slight nimph who frequently cannot hear a sound but for her own voice and who delightfully manages to rob you of the burden of holding up your half of the conversation. Finally there is Buggs, whose name is absolutely irrelevant to his character. He spends his days holed up in his room and for the life of me I cannot figure out what it is he does in his reclusive hours. Still when we draw him out he does manage to surprise with little tidbits of humor or insight.
I suppose I must add something of myself to the mix. I am perhaps overly fond of my own sense of humor and the small pleasures I find from day to day. At the same time I spend a lot of time dealing with the little bothers that keep popping up in an active student life. From fixing Echo's broken jacket (the girl is desperately in need of sewing lessons) to organizing excursions to faraway places. I am a nomadic harlequin. You may call me Harl.

-Nomadic Harlequin