The apartment was small, though the open floor design gave the illusion of it being bigger than it actually was, and there was no denying that my “desk” was little more than a glorified phone stand. Perched in a folding chair too small for my five-ten frame, I hunched over a square surface just big enough to hold my checkbook and the calculator. I pulled the bills out of a box on the floor beside me and dropped the finished ones onto a shelf over the table. The pile of trash at my feet was growing faster than the stack of completed bills. I never understood why the electric company thought it was necessary to inform me where I could get massage chairs at a reduced price or whatever other crap they had stuffed in the envelope with the bill. Like anyone had money left to buy something after they paid the electric bill. I rubbed the back of my neck and glanced over to where Z, my mostly straight roommate, and Jake, my hot but seriously young boyfriend, were hunched over PlayStation controllers battling it out in Call of Duty.
