Dating : Contents of his apartment

He lives alone and has been doing so for the last six years. Almost everything you find in his apartment is his: even me, for a moment, curled up in his t-shirt on his worn-out leather couch. There is the bed with a mattress that is only comfortable on one side (he makes me sleep on the other). There’s a cat that does not like me. An empty wine bottle from last night. There’s a coffee machine, an empty fridge and a Brita pitcher with a never replaced filter. Polaroids of him in Russia, shoes that don’t fit anymore but he is too lazy to throw out. I roam around searching for parts of him that would make me understand, to complete the image I made of him in my head. I find only one book. A note with a to-do list that says ‘’call mom’’. On his wall, there is a map of the city. He placed pins on every spot he has great memories of. I wonder if I am a pin too, but I can’t find it. There are many baseball caps, too many to count. There are cigarette buds in the bathroom window. He has many bad habits and I suppose I am one of them. I pull down my panties and sit on the toilet. There is toilet paper as well, lucky me. From here, I can see him — sitting on his balcony, smoking, a beer for breakfast. There is a litter box next to the shower. Only one bottle of shampoo. Folded laundry next to the sink (he is, after all, 33). On top, a pink, cotton thong. I look down at my ankles and find my answer. Black lace on cold white tiles.