By evening, he’d eaten an entire medium pepperoni pizza, downed at least four Dr. Peppers, and his bed was covered in crumbs. His body humming from all the caffeine, he opted to use it to his advantage. He tore off his sheets, tossed them in the washer, and tackled his room.
An hour later, his room was polished, vacuumed, and organized. The sheets were in the dryer and he’d started a load of darks. Still buzzing with adrenaline, he decided to attack the living room and kitchen.
A glance at his curio cabinet full of George Michael memorabilia—his friends called it his “shrine,” but whatever—told him he needed to dust there, too. He carefully took out everything on display to wash the glass shelving, then spent way too much time rearranging it all just so.
Marc had spent years collecting
