I didn’t notice the change until I walked into my apartment one Thursday night and realized the fridge was almost empty. Not because I couldn’t afford groceries but because I hadn’t been home enough to eat them.
I stood in the tiny kitchen above the garage with one hand resting on the fridge door staring at a carton of milk that was due to expire the next morning and a load of bread that had gone stale before I’d managed to finish it and I laughed quietly to myself.
“Well, that’s embarrassing.” I said to myself.
A few month earlier I barely left the apartment unless I was opening or closing the garage.
Now I was spending nearly every night somewhere else. The clubhouse.
I closed the fridge, wandered into the bathroom and took a quick shower before brushing my teeth and changing i
