One of the nicest things, Randy found, about living on one’s own is that if one was too drunk to drag one’s ass to bed, one could flop on the couch and just sleep there without ever having to worry about being bitched at. The worst part about that benefit, however, was that there was no one there to lovingly reach over and pull the drapes closed or to stoke the fire during the night. Those oversights tended to have negative consequences when morning light met hangover, such as being damn near frozen to death, and having to swat pointlessly at the sun while it glared through the back window. It was a punishment that served, if nothing else, to force Randy’s ass off the couch and try to figure out why it sounded as though there were wild dogs fighting in his front yard.
With the couch blank
