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Day Forty.

For those in need of a recap: Katy is back in town tomorrow and Chaz is out of town in one month— with me following to leave for Possumcunt, Ohio two months afterward.

“I’m leaving early but the rent has been paid for the next three months,” Chaz told me. “So you basically have the place to yourself for two months after I’m gone. Consider it a parting farewell gift.”

Good. I didn’t say that part out loud but good, regardless. Chaz is a fucking tool. And he knows he’s expected to pay rent for the two months he isn’t going to be here even though he’s on the leash. Lease.

What wasn’t expected, however, was the feast Chaz had prepared for the evening.

“Dinner’s great,” I told Chaz.

Chaz has never cooked a meal like this before. And what was odd was, well, his girlfriend wasn’t here.

“It’s a shame Torrie wasn’t here for this.”

“I know what you’re saying, man.”

“This is the best Mexican Mother’s Day ever.” I took a bite of steak and savored it, as one should always do when having steak.

A pregnant pause filled the air.

“Where is Torrie?”

“My girlfriend is out of town”— Hey, that’s the name of this blog!

“Well it seems like you two have been getting along recently.”

“How so?”

“I haven’t heard crying in over two weeks.”

“Oh, you noticed that too?”Chaz slid the bong across the table. “Smoke up, son,” he said.

“Don’t mind if I do,” I said.

I took a bong rip as Chaz got up from the table. “There’s more in the kitchen, hold on.”

This is a good time to tell you that the meal was delicious. The meal was delicious.

Chaz came back with a sausage on a plate.

“This one’s all you, buddy,” he said.

“Really?”

“I smoked this sausage just for you, Charlie.”

“Well then it looks like I’m going to have to eat it.”

He set the plate down right in front of me. Then Chaz did a curious thing: he watched me eat the entire sausage. He didn’t consume any food while it happened. He didn’t blink once. It almost looked like he held his breath for three minutes. His gaze simply never broke that of the sausage’s— even though sausages don’t have eyes I hope you’re getting the point.

After I finished the smoked sausage he asked, “How was it?”

“It looked like a dick but it definitely didn’t taste like it.”

“Good. Good.

I slid the bong across the glass dining room table. “Your turn.”

Chaz took a hit.

“I cheated on Katy,” I said in the midst of his bong rip.

“I know,” he coughed. What. What?

“What?”

“I said—,” he took another hit from the bong, “I know.”

“How could you— have you been reading my—” Chaz stopped me mid-sentence.

“I was at the party, Charlie. Everybody knows you fucked one of the Mexican girls from the Panda Express.”

“But I didn’t—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, it’s OK.”

But there weren’t any Mexican girls from the Panda—”

“Stop, Charlie. You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying to you. I didn’t have sex with one of the—”

“Calm down, pal. I’m not going to tell Katy, don’t worry.”

“You can’t tell her I had sex with a Mexican girl that works at the Panda Express because I didn’t have sex with a Mexican girl that works at the Panda Express.”

“I know, Charlie. Nobody did. That’s the story I’m sticking with.”

Arguing with Chaz was going to be pointless. Back to the steak dinner:

“It’s the least I could do,” he said to me in between bites of coffee steak and steak tar tar. The least he could’ve done was pay rent and give me back the money he stole, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. After all, he did make nine different types of steak for dinner tonight; might as well not let some of that animosity slip. Just for the evening.

“I’m a bit disappointed in the flat-iron. It’s tender but lacking in some taste— flavor, if you will,” he said.

I took a bite of the flat-iron and agreed with him. It was still good, but the taste of… game pervaded the piece. “It’s no big deal,” I said, “and how pissed can a guy be about a day where he hasn’t heard the cats whining.”

“Or my girlfriend,” he said. He took another bite of the flat-iron. “Decadent silence, my friend.”

Roommate,” I corrected him. “We’re roommates, not friends.” That wasn’t really accurate since the guy was terrible at being both. Chaz let that one slide for some reason. But he was a great cook. At least he had that going for him.

“Roommate, friend, chinchilla, cat. What’s the difference, right Charlie?” He took a bite of rib-eye— at least, I think it was rib-eye. Looked a little thin for rib-eye but it definitely tasted delish; no A-1 required.

“When’s the big move-out?” I said.

“There’ll be no evidence I was even here by next Friday,” he said. I switched plates to one with veal on it. At least, it tasted like veal.

“Yeah,” he said, “If I don’t end up with that place in Santa Ana.” This was the first I’d heard about a possible move to Santa Ana. He chomped on some quarter-house— this thing was fucking lung-sized, it was so goddamn big. And he made two! “I’m looking at something studio apartment-sized, if not a bit smaller,” he said with his mouth still full of meat.

The lights cut out.

“There goes the power,” he said, “But at least we still have cable.”

I was floored. Chaz may have prepared an epicurean’s delight for dinner but he hadn’t paid the fucking power bill? Come on.

“Dude, you used our electric money for cable?”

Your electric money. For cable.”

“We can’t even watch TV if we don’t have power, Hannibal.”

“Hey, Hannibal here made you a fucking delicatessen epicurean’s delight for dinner, you ungrateful fuck.” He must have had an angry look on his face but I couldn’t be sure because he didn’t pay the electric bill.

Sent from my iPhone.

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