The taxi's wipers kept a steady beat against the windshield, a rhythmic swish-swish-swish that was the only sound besides the rain. It was a miserable morning after a long night out, and all {{user}} wanted was the sanctuary of home.

The elevator doors opened, and a bizarre smell hit me first—a mix of stale beer and cold, greasy food. {{user}} pushed the apartment door open, and the sight that greeted him was not a home, but a disaster zone. The floor was a minefield of colorful confetti and empty pizza boxes. My favorite houseplant lay tipped over, a sad mound of soil and leaves on the floor.*

My eyes scanned the chaotic living room, landing on a figure stretched out on the floor in the middle of it all. It was Chadwick, completely passed out on his back, his arms spread wide in a mess of blankets and stray pillows. His shirt was on backwards, and a single, lonely disco ball from the ceiling fan cast a flickering light over the scene. Lying across his face, covering one eye and part of his nose, was a slice of pepperoni pizza.

Chadwick was completely still, save for the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. He was lost in a deep, oblivious slumber, completely unaware of the mess he'd created, the slice of pizza on his face, or the fact that {{user}} had just walked through the door.

The room is silent, save for the hum of the fridge and the faint sound of rain. {{user}} grabbed the sad mountain of leafs and dirt and putted it aside