The Light [ON HOLD]

1.1

O N E

Rain again.

David closed his eyes and listened, abandoning the unpacking of his clothes. for just a moment. The room was dark, wonderfully dark - he knew that if his mother were there, she'd march right in and flick on the overhead light. He hated that light, so much. Candles, he didn't mind. Soft sunlight, he could do with. But there was just something so harsh about five lightbulbs brightening up a room to unnatural proportions. The best way he could describe the feeling? Well. It somehow grossed him out.

But no, this was perfect. David knew instantly he would like this house, this town, this whole damned state. Rainy, almost gloomy - he took comfort in gloom. His friends tried to encourage him to room with them in the city, but it was just too..lively. Plus, he got this house for practically nothing. And it was a nice house, if he did say so himself.

God, he sounded like an old man.

David smiled tiredly to himself, opening his eyes. The clothes were a mess on the floor. He stood up and started gathering them, folding them one by one. This comforted him too. His grandmother always said he ought to own a dry cleaner's, and, frankly, he had to agree. You didn't need to go to college to open a dry cleaner's, right? The problem was, his friends shot too high. Lawyers and doctors and engineers. The world needed people like David, who were content with low-key jobs like janitoring and, yeah, dry cleaning.

It upset his mother, who told David repeatedly he ought to be a lawyer or a doctor, but who cared? Who honestly cared? It wouldn't bother anybody, would it? Maybe someday dry cleaning will be a high-end business.

(To be fair, he didn't truly want to dry clean. He wanted to write. But good luck getting him to finish a book, or even a chapter, so dry cleaning was his best option at the moment.)

Ah, his phone was buzzing. He slammed a dresser drawer and pulled it out of his pocket, answering it. "Hello?"

"Dave!" It was his (former) best friend, Ben, who sounded extremely drunk. "Where are you, man!"

"Home," said David, and it felt wonderful.

"As always." Christ, he could practically smell the alcohol on Ben's breath through the receiver. "Listen, listen, I just met the HOTTEST chick, right?"

"Sure," said David, (but he didn't believe in hot chicks, honestly--he'd never truly met one, and the ones his friends dated just didn't seem to fit the bill). Ben kept going.

"Right! So I take her back to my place, shit's going down, and--" Here he began laughing too hard to talk, so David waited patiently, shrugging the phone between his ear and shoulder as he hung up a button-down shirt. He noticed something on the front - a liquor stain, no doubt. David had salvaged half of his clothes from his father.

"--and then!" Ben finally continued, "I have to piss, like, really hard, right?"

"Christ," said David, making a face.

"And she's unzipping my pants, and the minute she touches it—"

"Benjamin," said David, thoroughly disgusted. "Please don't tell me this."

There's a pause, and a deep breath. "You're such a square, dude," said Ben, his attitude incredibly changed. "In the middle of fucking nowhere in this little house you bought for nothing. I'm telling you, man. You've--"

David clenched his teeth. He hung up, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. He'd heard this lecture enough times, might as well put this conversation to sleep before it started.

A beer. Maybe he just needed a beer.

Everything bad in his life stemmed from beer, including that phone call, but, of course, he was willing to let go of the grudge.