While I was exercising today, I mentally created a story to explain the sofa guy of the previous entry.

Unfortunately, I waited too long to write it down.

But here’s the idea:

He came back to town early only to discover that his apartment was cordoned off with police tape. One of his neighbors had been found dead in her apartment–discovered only after her body began to smell. Unfortunately for him, his cheap bastard of a landlord put him up in the skankiest fleabag motel in town, where gravel trucks roared past his window all day and all night.

And then Michael showed up and so the story abruptly stopped there. Which is too bad, because I was hoping to learn how the neighbor had died, and if the apartment would be condemed.

It was a lot better in my brain when he was rubbing the week old stubble on his chin and regretting returning to town a week early.