“Enough already,” came the unearthly moan. “Just pick something.”
She was used to living with Jerome, this freeloading spirit. He wasn’t messy and never ate her food, which made him better than most roommates.
But she ignored his otherworldly plea anyway and kept channel surfing. It was Friday night, and she had leftover pizza and a bottle of cabernet. She needed to find something good.
Suddenly, the remote began to wiggle from her grasp.
“Oh no you don’t,” Janice said, clutching the remote.
If he wanted a say, start paying rent. Until then, he could keep his freeloading mouth shut.
The Weekday One Hundred 