My roommate struts around in his boxer briefs. He's anxious. He sits, and stands, then sits. And laughs to himself. He reads my newspaper, and listens to my Regina Spector C.D, and drinks my orange juice. I look at him. At once, I feel both my love and hate for him intensify. I could pierce his neck for touching my belongings. Also, I can hug him for the ways he reads his newspaper with an eyebrow raised, sways his shoulder when he listens to music, and slurps his juice. If I deserve a best friend, it would be this pompous, aggravating, loving and lost bastard. I've run out of things to say, and so I recycle memories and feelings, but not even, since I just made the above comment.(I am here and there.) I'm slowly moving into an unpleasant mind state. (Don't know where.) (I thought I had an epiphany, but I'll never cross that line. Nothing is new and nothing is stale. Through the wash and spin cycle one more time.)