I rush-ordered a blanket and set of sheets from Amazon Prime and planned out how I could ensure night two wouldn’t be as depressing, lonely, or uncomfortable as night one. We spent most of the night watching a movie on the couch -- Armageddon, actually -- and opened up a bottle of whiskey to ease the notion of another potentially awful night.
“I really didn’t like last night,” she said.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“Like, it feels like we’re at a parent’s house or something.”
“Yeahhhhh,” I said again, tastefully elongating the word to accurately communicate my mutual discontent.
“What about morning sex?”
“I mean, we can still do that… I’ll just walk 10 feet.” She didn’t seem satisfied.
That night, despite the sheets and blanket, I got just as little sleep as the night before. I got up around 2am to unfold the couch and finally found a quasi comfortable position. Just as I was about to fall asleep, I became alert from a noise coming from my hallway -- my neighbor -- I don’t know her name, I just call her Pinky because she owns a pair of pink pants. She was arguing with someone in the hallway. I distinctly make out the phrase “every single night” and wondered if she, indeed, had been arguing in the hallway before. Had I not heard it from the seclusion of my own room? Who was she arguing with? I woke up at 8am and skipped the gym.