Any Given Sunday

I woke up slowly realizing my bedroom held no light. With a white shade drawn, only my eyes adjusted only to shadows. I contemplated tragedy.

In a hurry for Anthony's arrival, I swept through the house on a cleaning rampage, praying he'd remember to call.

After two hours of laughing, talking, and sharing music, he left. In his place laid a poorly constructed cardboard spine and a drying paper mache skull.

Forty Spanish flashcards, a study session on the rights of the accused, a completed civil rights study guide, and an orange soda later I felt incomplete.

And that's where I sit now.