The poor guy hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in weeks. Instead of enjoying peaceful evenings snuggling beside his girlfriend, he was stuck with three unwanted bunkmates.
There was the tall one with the cold feet. The short chubby one with the sharp elbows. And then there was his least favorite of all – the one with the bad breath.
He was once a reasonable man, someone who assumed ghosts weren’t real.
Now he knew better. They were real and they were terrible roommates.
He poured himself two fingers of scotch and downed it.
His two-year lease couldn’t end soon enough.
The Weekday One Hundred 