"I have eaten your last bagel," Kelly announced in a voice much louder than necessary. His swagger as he entered the living room was as loud and pronounced as he must have imagined his cock was, his groin being the focus of his exaggerated method of locomotion.

"And there's really fuck all you can do about it," he said, picking a poppy-seed - my fucking poppy-seed - from between his teeth as he settled into the Lazy-Boy. He found the remote on the coffee table and began flipping channels.

"I'm watching the soccer game, Kelly."

"Nah. That shit is boring. No one ever scores. Any baseball on? Basketball?"

"I'm watching the soccer game."

"Football, maybe?" Kelly wrinkled his forehead as he considered this possibility. Normally I'd have found that cute. Right now I just wanted to choke the bastard.

"Drink," he muttered looking around him before standing, and swaggering towards the kitchen, his ass straining attractively against blue jeans so faded they were nearly white. He returned with what looked like a draft mug full of Guinness.

"Would have got you one," he smiled, "but this was the last one I could find." Still smiling. I imagined bludgeoning him to death with the receiver of the phone, wrapping the cord around his muscled neck.

"You got any weed? We should smoke a bowl or something." He sat on the couch beside me as he offered this suggestion. Kelly smiled and ruffled my hair with large and calloused fingers.

"Yeah." I smiled. "It's in the bedroom." I nodded in the appropriate direction, as if Kelly wasn't aware of the layout, and might need some guidance or encouragement. He grinned as if in agreement, but when I got to the bedroom I was alone and there was nothing to do but root through my backpack, several pairs of pants and my desk, looking for the half-ounce I bought that morning.

 

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Day 10 | Kelly Home | Day 12