There's a strange girl in my apartment.

No, I didn't get lucky.  Cos' rather, she brought me home.

I had passed out on my way home from the Yard.  I'm can't tell exactly what happened, but I can feel this bruise on the back of my head accompanied with a massive headache.  I wasn't mugged, nothing's missing, I've even checked my kidneys.

Nothing.

But there she is, sitting on my couch, eating my ice cream, like she owns the place.  It's almost 6am now and she still have not left.

I'm not sure what's wrong with this girl, but she's in her world.  I want to call the cops and have her removed, the only problem is... she must be only 15 or so.

What exactly would happen if she decides to backlash and call me a child molster to the cops when they come by?

Not really.

My cousin left on a winter ski trip and asked if I could sit her dog for the rest of the week. I reluctantly agreed, keeping in mind that the company of a dog might keep me from solitude this weekend. But the moment she arrived at my apartment to drop her off, I started to wonder what dog tastes like.

If you think that handling a tiny dog that only weighs about 4 pounds would be a piece of cake, think again. This bitch is crazy. She naps on her back with her legs in the air, and wears a dress. Wtf? When she's not sleeping, she's eating, and by eating I mean chomping on my fingers while I'm trying to feed her. When she's not eating, she's barking. For some mysterious reason, she keeps barking at my empty shoe closet door. I decided to check out exactly what was wrong, so I opened the closet door, swtiched on the light and we both examined the spare room. There was nothing. It was empty. I called her a crazy bitch, and as soon as I shut the door, she starts barking at it again.

But that's not even the part that pisses me off the most. It's calling the dog's name. For some fucked up reason, my psycho cousin chose to name her "Princess". With a name like Princess, what the hell do you expect? I think people really underestimate the importance that lies behind a name.

I'm sitting here, trying to recollect precisely why my new apartment reeks of cigarettes. Did it smell like this when I first moved in? No, it whiffed of the fresh paint. Did I subconsciously pick up that nasty habit again four years after I had kicked it? Nah, my apartment is spot clean and I don't notice any ashes or cigarette butts lying around, so unless I had cleaned up after myself without realizing it... in that case, nevermind the smell, I can fucking clean up after myself subconsciously!

But no, that isn't the case. What happened was my half sister, Sarah. My old man's daughter from another mother is what happened. Early Sunday morning, she called and said that she was stopping by to take a look at the new apartment. I immediately started to prepare myself for some annoying, loud, and excessive talking.

"Why is it so empty in here?", Sarah asked.

"I just moved in twelve hours ago."

"Hmmm...Do you need any help looking for furniture?" she asked, completely oblivious to my annoyance.

"Umm.. I'm thinking of putting a bookcase right over there", I answered.

"Oh! I saw a bookcase on Craigslist that was very cheap! It was only $20. It'll be PERFECT for your living room!"

"No, thanks. I don't buy used stuff, even if it's only $20."

"But it's vintage! And it's still in great quality!"

"It's used."

"But it's vintage."

"I like modern furniture."

"But it's vintage."

I looked her stern in the eye and debated whether I should have strangled her. It won't take long for her to run out of breath if I grip tightly on her tiny throat.

Then she said, "Ok, how about I buy it for you? Just accept it as a welcome home gift. Roger and I will even pick it up and deliver it here to you!"

"Thank you, really."

Now, I'm sitting in my new half empty apartment that began to smell like cigarettes the moment that hideous bookcase was bestowed upon me as a "welcome home" gift.

Fuck it. I need a cigarette.

a thin string of saliva hung like indecent spider's silk