Michelle dumped me the third week of August. The most annoying fallout of the breakup was the sudden necessity of finding a new apartment.
“I want u out by the 1st,” Michelle told me by text. “I’ll b @ Laura’s til then.”
Laura never liked me.
I rented the second apartment I saw. Taking Friday the first off, I moved in with a little help from my friend Carlos.
“Is this all you’ve got, dude?” he asked, scratching his head while staring at the half-empty U-haul truck. Truly, it was pathetic how little I could claim as my own after three years with Michelle. My clothes. A tattered recliner with patches on the arms. My laptop computer, the postage-stamp-sized desk it usually sat upon. The TV and most of the DVDs. Some movie posters. Michelle hadn’t let me hang them, so they’d been shoved into the back of a closet.
“You don’t even own a bed?” Carlos asked.
I shrugged. “I’ll crash in my sleeping bag tonight.”
“Man, you are officially pathetic.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks. Do I need to remind you that you live with your parents?”
“Only ’cause my mother cooks better than yours.”
“And doesn’t live 3000 miles away.” I didn’t mention his recent divorce.
“That, too.” Carlos shoved the ramp back into the truck with a clatter. “Do you even own a bowl for your cornflakes tomorrow morning?”
I pulled out the keys and headed for the cab. “We’ll have to stop at the store on the way to the apartment.”
We drove a circuitous route in order...
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