So, like many late-twenty-somethings in this economy, I find myself living with a roommate, and there are times when I legitimately loathe the man. We are actually fairly close friends, and we have a lot in common, as well as a lot of shared experience. We live in the same shitty apartment, we worked the same shitty job for years, which is how we met, and since we requested going on opposite shifts to get some time away from one another, our relationship has improved significantly. I don't truly hate the guy, but I don't spend more time than I have to with him. Fortunately, he seems to feel the same way, so we mostly just shoot the shit about wrestling, watch the pay-per-views together, and retreat to our respective rooms to get the fuck away from one another.
He's not such a bad guy in small doses, and there aren't many people who understand my love for the WWE like Paul does. He actually worked the indy circuit for a while, so we can connect on that level at least. He's still a paranoid motherfucker about money, but I pay well in advance, and we no longer split any bills except rent, electricity and internet. I may order out or he may order out, we may both even order out on the same night, but we no longer order out together. I have accepted that he will never do the dishes, he has accepted that I will never allow his drunken, virus-downloading, morbidly obese ass on my expensive office chair so he can destroy my operating system by visiting sketchy porn sites, or allow him to bum off my weed. If he wants to hit from my bowl, he needs to pitch in for the cost. On the flip side, I have accepted that I can only smoke up in my room since his daughter is over pretty much all the time. Her mother fucked off shortly after Kelly turned two. Last I'd heard, she'd gotten picked up for solicitation along with various drug charges. She wasn't up for parole for another seven years yet.
Paul was oddly clever for one so clearly controlled so exclusively by his hindbrain, but he had to take his time chewing each thought over before it was ready to be shared the way he meant it. He never forgot a thing, and he would hold on to thoughts to worry at them for hours, days, or even weeks. A grudge, he usually nursed no less than a week, and every time we argued I could count on Paul to bring up all sorts of old shit, but his ability to focus on a thought and fully break it down was impressive, and he would remember fun conversations too. He had great taste in movies, old blues and jazz and funk, and he could throw together a shockingly tasty meal with just about anything we had lying around the house. When he was sober, he could hold his own on topics close to his heart, and he made some connections that truly impressed me. Every now and then, often days or sometimes weeks after a conversation, he'd say something truly profound. He could also be really funny. Paul usually got two brilliant j
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