Espresso Spill

I went to hand Musette this second espresso I made her. When I get nervous I become an espresso making machine. She knocked the espresso out of my hand, spilling it all over the bed. It was an accident.

The reason I was nervous is because she confronted me with what was stressing her out, saying how she’s the only one looking into what needs to be looked into regarding our move to New York.

I asked her what she wanted me to do and she said she didn’t know how I could just jump in at this point. I asked her about what she had on her list. She loves making lists. Have I mentioned that already? She had used the new pen she stole for me, the writer, from her work. I mentioned already how I never use pens anymore.

She showed me the websites she uses to find listings. One of them is very professional looking. The other is Craigslist. The professional one focuses around agents, or brokers. There is a little bubble with the agent’s face next to the listing – their avi. This is the gamification of moving to New York.

Musette draws an imaginary map for me on the wall of the shower. She lists strike zones.

‘Here, here, and here’ she says. ‘I want to enter the city here, and work here. Subway lines go this, that, and this other way.’ We want to keep the apartment price under fifteen hundred dollars.

It was around this time that I spilled the espresso on our bed.

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