(no subject)
He's doing push ups. Sweating. Behind him the phone rings. And rings. And rings. His answering machine picks up as he continues his workout. His sister - his only remaining sibling - begins speaking: "Ugh. Asshole! I know you're there. Pick up the goddamn phone. Look, I know you're avoiding me, but Emily would really like for you to be at her birthday party this weekend. Call me back if and when you get this. Asshole."
His apartment is small. Of course it is. Because this story is so fucking cliché. His tiny, crappy, stained loveseat - the only piece of furniture aside from a second-hand folding chair - is wrapped in plastic and duct tape next to him. His overhead fan buzzes and annoys him distantly.
An hour later he's rushing down the stairs, cinching up his tie for work.
"Hey, Chris man, how close are you?" asks Hector, his neighbor.
"
His apartment is small. Of course it is. Because this story is so fucking cliché. His tiny, crappy, stained loveseat - the only piece of furniture aside from a second-hand folding chair - is wrapped in plastic and duct tape next to him. His overhead fan buzzes and annoys him distantly.
An hour later he's rushing down the stairs, cinching up his tie for work.
"Hey, Chris man, how close are you?" asks Hector, his neighbor.
"