Jersey turned her key slowly in the lock and took off her shoes before walking into the apartment. She was too tired to deal with Morris at three am. Tomorrow maybe, after fifteen hours of sleep, she'd be up to it. Morris. Good ol' Morris. It was a relief to be home.
A faint blueish light came from the living room.
"Morris?" she said.
"Oh, hey," he said nonchalantly, as if she'd never left. He stood up.
"Why are you all, why are you, you know, are those new? What are you doing up so late? And are you smoking?" Jersey said.
Morris was dressed in black jeans, black boots, and a black tee-shirt. She even thought she saw a tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve.
"Did you have your eyebrow pierced?" Jersey said. Morris took a deep drag on his cigarette. Good ol' Morris wearing his plaid pajamas and in bed by ten seemed to be missing.
"What the fuck, Morris, what's going on? I'm way too tired for this," she said, bending to pick up her duffle bag.
That's when she noticed the picture. It took up one entire wall of their apartment.
"Shit!" Jersey said. "WHAT is that? I'm gone for five days and you turn into, like, some arty poseur weirdo guy? I can't take this right now, Morris. I'm going to bed. You go out and play with all your arty poseur friends, OK? I'll see you tomorrow."
Jersey slammed the door to the bedroom and threw herself onto the bed, threw herself into that good ol' pit of pain. At least it was familiar.
"Experience your boyfriend turning into a pretentious arty weirdo," she thought just before she fell into a deep dreamless sleep.
by Jill