Sometimes I feel like because of this being a smoke-free complex, the only roommate that isn’t as into herb feels a little bit like a dad sometimes.
Not all the time.
Only when someone forgets to blow out (or light) the incense.
Or put a towel under the front door.
He doesn’t scold or look angry or anything,
I just always picture a faint grin and him thinking, “Oh, you crazy kids.”
Even though I’m pretty sure we’re almost the same age.
And this is real life.
It’s probably not even so much that he feels like a dad as it is I feel like a teenager that fucked up. I think it’s because this place reminds me so much of a hotel.
And hotels remind me of the ridiculous parties teenagers have in them and how I was one of those teenagers. There’s sprinklers inside the apartments, and then the whole not being able to light a cigarette inside…ya know.
It’s a gorgeous complex.
But apparently it’s getting to me.
…Or maybe he does feel a tiny bit like a dad sometimes.
Which is cool. I’m pretty sure I’ve felt a tiny bit like a mom my whole life.