What's in an address?

I don't know mine.  I've circled the building and there are numbers all over.  Which one's the address?  No matter what I try the google mapers won't give me a fixed location.  And untill I figure this out I can't range too far.  Where will I tell the taxi cab driver to take my drunk ass home to?  And so it was, neccessarily, a tame weekend.

My bathroom goes, from left to right: mobile shower head, sink, toilet, towel rack.  There are no partitions, in fact the whole room is probably six feet across.  You can shower and poop comfortably, but you'll get the toilet paper wet.  The drain in the center of the appropriately slanted floor wasn't cleaned before I moved in and I often stare and the tangle of straight black hair that's amassed their.  I guess things about the previous tenant, but you can only read so much from someone's hair.  I wish they'd left me a note.

Tomorrow is the first day of school.  I came here on the pretenses of a job, and now I'm actually going to be asked to perform.  I suddenly feel that somewhere along the line I should have told them; I've always been less of a teacher and more of a clown.