nick and I are drug zombies stuck in routine

I come home from the bar and Nick is standing at the toaster, which sits on the shelf that we call the pantry. I grab a handful of Goldfish crackers and walk past him. I go into my room, I change. I go to the kitchen. Nick is standing by the toaster. At his right, there is a huge lump of cream butter from the Polish Deli, maybe a pound of it. I eat the crackers and go into my room; I arrange something and go to the kitchen. Nick is standing by the toaster, there are crumbs on a plate and in the butter. I grab a cookie and go back to my room. I look for something, anything, to kill time. I want Nick to go away, so I can eat more E.L. Fudge cookies and Goldfish crackers. I want to eat too many. I don't want to feel fat. I need to do crunches too but I can't with him standing endlessly by the toaster in shorts and a wifebeater. I go to my bedroom to plug in my phone. I return to get the charger. He's still there. I eat more. I brush teeth and look for zits. I stare sidelong into the mirror. Finally the light is off in the kitchen. The thermostat is turned down. I eat the majority of the cookies and crackers, and make a dent in the cold Polish ham, turn on the news and do crunches til I'm too sleepy to continue.


I don't know if this actually happened.