"What are you going to do today?"
"I'm hungover... I don't know." I shrugged into the phone on my shoulder. "Whatever."
"Alright. Maybe I'll see you out later. Peace."
I hung up and immediately my cell phone rang again. Unknown number, third time this morning. It was probably somebod
(more)y who wanted money that I owed them. Thanks for the education, guys, but it looks like you gambled and lost. Go find your money somewhere else.
I poured a bowl of cereal, went to the 'fridge, and pulled out an empty carton. Typical. Just fucking great. How the f--
There was a knock on the door, but it was merely perfunctory; four people- three men and a woman- flung the door open and filed inside. The men went to separate parts of my tiny house and the woman stayed in the kitchen with me. I stood in front of her in my bathrobe, holding an empty milk carton and worrying about the weed that was on my nightstand.
"What the hell? We've been calling you all morning!" She grabbed my cell phone and shoved it my face. "You're in. You're up. It's you. Let's go."
"I... but..." I demanded.
The men came back into the kitchen empty-handed. The woman stopped gesturing at me and started gesturing at them. "You're supposed to get his clothes, get him packed. What the hell?"
All three kept a neutral expression as one said, "No clothes worth taking, ma'am."
"Oh ho!" she said, slugging me on the shoulder. "Of course there aren't! This whole shithole could burn down and no one would care! Nice job. Come with me now." As she pulled me toward the door she said to the men over her shoulder, "Burn it."
That's the thing about doing whatever: sometimes, whatever happens. (less)
