Cold Showers and Bruised Egos
‘Jeff Pierson, you have been in bed for the past four days, nonstop. You smell disgusting, your mail is flowing OUT of your mailbox, the newspapers have formed a pyramid amongst themselves, the neighbors are starting to talk, AND I’m getting pissed. Now get out of bed.’ ‘Go away, Lacey,’ I groaned, wondering now why I ever thought giving her a key to my place was a good idea. ‘Dammit, Jeff, I mean it. It’s nearly one in the afternoon. Get. Up.’ I didn’t budge. I didn’t need to pull the covers...