you weaved through the clumps of drunk and high college kids in your apartment— how did cerise convince you to host the annual frat christmas party at your apartment again? (and cerise didn't even go here, yet he was still the life of the party!)

you needed to learn how to say no— it was seriously becoming a problem. head throbbing and ears ringing, you ran out into the snow, taking a breath of relief that you had found refuge from the shitty, cliché music and the assholes trashing your apartment. before you shut the door to the apartment complex, the old brown coat rack caught your eye. on it was a ratty old black zip-up that you remembered fondly. slipping it over your shoulders, you made your way out into the harsh snow of new jersey winter. the jacket reeked of cigarettes, cologne and sweat, your ex-boyfriend boston's signature scent.

sighing, you shoved your hands in the pockets of the jacket and leaned against the fence outlining your apartment complex. boston owned the apartment, actually, but he insisted you keep it during the breakup. and for God knows what reason, he still paid the rent in full. he'd paid it in full for the rest of college, anyway. how he scraped up the money to do that, you had no idea, but ever since he left the apartment, no one else had seen a glimpse of him. It was almost a little concerning; soon enough his friends would have his face on the back of a milk carton.

resting your elbow on the fence, you let out a slew of curses— "fuck, fuck!" as you accidentally slam your elbow into the metal mailbox. wincing, you eventually catch your breath and decide it's been a hot second since you looked through the mail (boston used to always do that, between the rent and telemarketers). you sifted through the HOA letters, scam mail and boring weird house brochures until your eyes fell upon a postcard from massachusetts. you ripped it open to find—

to: pudmuffin from: bost

hey babe. drunk in massa & this is the only address i know. happy holidays puds.