I stare at it again.
"We're stopping by your place after school! No excuses!"
The words flare on the screen like a warning siren. Bright. Friendly. Ominous. A digital harbinger of doom, cheerfully punctuated by a smiley face that feels less like a cute invitation and more like a cheerful execution notice.
People.
Here.
In this apartment.
In my apartment.
A place not fit for the eyes of the civilized world. A realm where cup ramen containers go to die and never return. A sanctuary scarred by the horrors of finals week, bloodied by countless gaming marathons, and blanketed in the quiet desolation of emotional withdrawal. There are lands more welcoming in post-apocalyptic novels.
I glance around again, slowly—like maybe, just maybe, I'd hallucinated the last few years of my domestic habits.
