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Well alright. 5:39pm. Woke up to Dabi, the bone skinny stray dog that Reuben, the Sinatra Connick Jr. whose room I've sub-let by using the barter system unintentionally, bathes the fleas off of sporadically, picking noisily through the refuse in the hallway. Everyone has vacated except me. They all had someplace else to go that wasn't Michigan. I'm not sure if one of those previous sentences works well or not, and I'm pretty sure this one doesn't either, so, uh, I don't know if that's luck or skill or what. The Michigan thing. That was fun. I've never been bored in my life. Originally the interwebs were packed away in the last load out, but Laura sneaked 'em back in. They're across the wall in the next room. Yeah. All of 'em. So that's cool. Not freezing at the moment. Scavenged a dirty box of Stove Top©®™ chicken stuffing, half a cardboard tube of generic oatmeal, a third of a bottle of Mrs. Butterworth's maple flavored corn syrup, and a packet of what turned out to be instant