“You​ ​brought​ ​flowers​ ​to​ ​game​ ​night?”
“They​ ​were​ ​for​ ​my​ ​girlfriend​ ​but​ ​her​ ​flight​ ​was​ ​AM,​ ​not​ ​PM.”

Thane​ ​shut​ ​the​ ​door​ ​behind​ ​him​ ​and​ ​tossed​ ​the​ ​flowers​ ​under​ ​the​ ​coat​ ​rack​ ​full​ ​of​ ​orphaned hoodies​ ​from​ ​this-or-that​ ​unplanned​ ​party.

“Monopoly?”
“Yeah–​ ​we​ ​all​ ​picked​ ​our​ ​pieces​ ​already.​ ​You’re​ ​the​ ​shoe.”
“Cool.​ ​Okay.​ ​Where’s​ ​Kerry?”
“He’s​ ​in​ ​his​ ​room.​ ​His​ ​door​ ​still​ ​doesn’t​ ​close​ ​all​ ​the​ ​way,​ ​if​ ​you​ ​wanna​ ​have​ ​a​ ​look​ ​at​ ​it​ ​later.” “Not​ ​really.”

None​ ​of​ ​the​ ​doors​ ​in​ ​the​ ​apartment​ ​actually​ ​closed.​ ​Some​ ​had​ ​gaps​ ​at​ ​the​ ​bottom​ ​so​ ​the​ ​cat could​ ​slink​ ​around​ ​freely.​ ​Others​ ​could​ ​slide​ ​into​ ​the​ ​wall​ ​but​ ​jammed​ ​before​ ​they​ ​would​ ​seal. The​ ​bathroom​ ​door​ ​was​ ​just​ ​a​ ​sheet​ ​of​ ​aluminum​ ​leaning​ ​against​ ​the​ ​frame.
All​ ​the​ ​cigarette​ ​smoke​ ​from​ ​different​ ​brands​ ​blended​ ​into​ ​the​ ​common​ ​space​ ​so​ ​it​ ​always smelled​ ​a​ ​bit​ ​social.

“You​ ​guys​ ​know​ ​the​ ​pit​ ​of​ ​the​ ​avocado​ ​is​ ​the​ ​most​ ​nutrient​ ​rich​ ​part?”
“Greg.​ ​Please​ ​do​ ​NOT​ ​put​ ​the​ ​pits​ ​in​ ​the​ ​Guac​ ​again.”
“God​ ​damnit.​ ​it’s​ ​already​ ​eleven​ ​thirty.​ ​Can​ ​we​ ​please​ ​just​ ​start–​ ​I’m​ ​already​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​drunk.”

They​ ​needed​ ​a​ ​bigger​ ​place​ ​but​ ​they​ ​decided​ ​that​ ​smaller​ ​furniture​ ​was​ ​the​ ​solution.​ ​Halves​ ​of couches​ ​disppeared​ ​into​ ​walls,​ ​chairs​ ​had​ ​the​ ​legs​ ​amputated​ ​at​ ​the​ ​knee,​ ​and​ ​the​ ​only​ ​drinking glasses​ ​were​ ​shot​ ​glasses.

With​ ​an​ ​unrehearsed​ ​elegance​ ​they​ ​all​ ​started​ ​to​ ​settle​ ​in;​ ​adjusting​ ​the​ ​lights,​ ​cracking​ ​fingers, and​ ​populating​ ​the​ ​table​ ​with​ ​booze​ ​(mostly​ ​rosé.)

•••

“St.​ ​Charles​ ​Place…​ ​Okay…​ ​a​ ​3​ ​story​ ​brownstone.​ ​The​ ​landlord​ ​and​ ​his​ ​family​ ​live​ ​on​ ​the​ ​top two​ ​floors.​ ​His​ ​son​ ​is​ ​a​ ​harmless​ ​goth​ ​in​ ​the​ ​middle​ ​of​ ​college​ ​applications​ ​and​ ​works​ ​part​ ​time at​ ​a​ ​billiard​ ​factory.​ ​The​ ​tenant​ ​on​ ​the​ ​griound​ ​floor​ ​is​ ​a​ ​gay​ ​dog​ ​walker–”
“The​ ​dogs?”

“What?”
“The​ ​dogs​ ​are​ ​gay?”
“No.​ ​What?​ ​No.​ ​He’s​ ​Gay”

“TIME!”

This​ ​was​ ​​Monopoly​ ​&​ ​Dragons;​ ​​a​ ​clumsy​ ​chimera​ ​of​ ​the​ ​traditional​ ​board​ ​game​ ​and​ ​a​ ​workshop for​ ​the​ ​underemployed​ ​writers​ ​who​ ​couldn’t​ ​afford​ ​therapy​ ​or​ ​a​ ​bar​ ​tab.​ ​They​ ​each​ ​took​ ​turns rolling​ ​the​ ​mis-matched​ ​dice​ ​and​ ​progressing​ ​around​ ​the​ ​board,​ ​improvising​ ​a​ ​collectively written​ ​fantasy​ ​as​ ​they​ ​landed​ ​on​ ​each​ ​space.

“North​ ​Carolina​ ​Avenue.​ ​So.​ ​Co-op​ ​high​ ​rise.​ ​The​ ​dog​ ​walker’s​ ​brother​ ​lives​ ​on​ ​the​ ​top​ ​floor.​ ​He got​ ​all​ ​of​ ​the​ ​inheritence.​ ​Ummm​ ​he’s​ ​a​ ​prominant​ ​Cervantes​ ​scholar–”
“Bulllllll–shit!”
“What?”

“I​ ​call​ ​bullshit.​ ​I​ ​know​ ​your​ ​sister​ ​is​ ​reading​ ​​Don​ ​Quixote​.”