No sofa bed, no blanket, no pillow.No Meghan.The room looked like my grandpop’s apartment, only someone had redecorated the place while I’d been sleeping. The front windows were covered with brown cardboard and masking tape. Tiny needles of light from the El station outside shot out from between the cracks. It was dark in here, but I could make out framed photos on the walls, and in the corner, a potted fern. All of the clutter—the boxes, the milk crates—was gone.I heard the sound of groaning wood and turned to see a dark-haired woman, about my age, maybe a little older, sitting on a sofa behind me. She didn’t seem to notice me. She was pretty, but had tired eyes, and wore a dress with little multicolored dots that look like they jumped off a bag of Wonder Bread.“Uh, hi,” I said.She started speaking without making eye contact.“You need a break. Come out with me. Have an old-fashioned. My treat.”“Excuse me?”She used her palms to smooth out her Wonder Bread dress, then stood up and walked right by me.
