Kyle’s apartment feels like a polar icecap compared to my ninth circle of Hell upstairs. The moment I walk through his door, I go straight to his thermostat—it’s set at seventy-two! “Why’s it feel so great in here?” I want to know.
It’s bright and sunny, unlike my apartment, even though I see he has blackout curtains, too, when he leads me into the living room. But they’re wide open, and so are his blinds. It’s as if the sun somehow shines into his place without heating it. Almost doesn’t seem fair.
“Hot air rises,” Kyle tells me. “The ground floor’s always cooler.”
His apartment is laid out the same as mine, though oddly enough, there’s no fireplace in the corner where mine is, just a large flatscreen TV mounted to the wall that puts Rob’s to shame. The cabinet beneath it is littered w
