My friends left this morning, a profoundly sad occasion for me. Kiki confirmed what I'd already suspected when she said she let Dirt drink too much last night because, well, "it's the last time." At this writing, they're emptying their storage locker into a truck they'll drive back east, to their new home. I take some solace that as Dirt loads mildewy furniture this morning, his forehead feels like it was jackhammered. You're welcome, traitor.
On the upside, I now begin the process of restoring order to my home, which looks like a tornado blew through a gypsy trailer park. I think I'll hire a forensics expert to explain the coconut on my ceiling.
Coffee drinkers, answer me this: what's wrong with reusing mugs? How can two coffee drinkers use 11 mugs in 3 days?
You all do this. Every last one of you. Don't lie to me.