“You don’t deserve this,” he whispered. “You did nothing wrong.”
He was half right. I was out too late and had too many, but three nights on the couch? Unreasonable.
“March in that bedroom and take back what’s yours,” he continued. “A king for a king.”
I looked at my new spiritual advisor, this apparition floating in the middle of my living room. Head pounding, back aching and here I was taking advice from a ghost.
Part of me thought he had my best interests at heart. The other part knew he just wanted the living room back to himself.
The Weekday One Hundred 