I turn the key and with a creek the door slowly opens. The flat that once welcomed after work is an eerie wasteland of emotions. Something is missing, but I haven't been burgled. Today I didn't need a daily ancedote, such as the photcopier jam. The post skidded across the floor as I stepped in. Someone usually lifts the post and places it thoughtfully on my bed, or even more knowingly, on my part of the sofa.Nachy, my flatmate, is away home for a week. Yes, I can bring a minger back and shag all day and night, walk around naked and rent his room out to buy drugs but I do most of those things when he's here. I just need someone around, and then it hit me... I will make my flatmate. Time is short so I can't make it talk or do anything. That is not important, but as long as I sit on my sofa and can see something resembling Nachy in the corner of my eye I might make it through the week without herion.
I begin to move him about when I leave the room. Before I know it this is part of my life and I love him. Then I hear a key turn in the door and Nachy is soon undressing his work trousers from my creation and I go to bed confused and in tears again. The photcopier jam was delicious by the way.
