Day 11:
This morning he had his friend again. This time he had a back pack with him, or some kind of bag.
He asked if I live in the elevator because I'm always on it, but somehow it's only when "Pete" is. I guess that's his name.
I ignored the comment and he started to whisper to Pete.
But as soon as long legs walked out of the elevator, Pete closed the door.
"Sorry about Dallon. He likes making friends but it takes him a while." He said, leaning to the wall of the elevator.
"Why does he want to be my friend?" I replied simply.
"Why do you always ask questions? Those are the only sentences I've heard you speak. Questions."
"That's not true."
"You're right, it's not. But I like talking to you. I wish you'd talk more."
"I guess I could make an exception."
The elevator stopped and this time he didn't try to talk me into going to to dinner.
Though, I would probably say yes.
You know me, I rarely go out and buy snacks but I remembered they had that party today.
I was hoping I could catch them on my way back, and to my wishing, there was Pete. He seemed unstable, and definitely not with anybody. His friend was still at the party, and Pete could barely see where he was going.
This is why I hate alcohol.
