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.
I dunno.
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.
