You were sat cross legged on the floor of your shithole apartment, in front of the old beaten up couch. Your roommate of two years, Adam, was sat back against the couch- flicking through some pictures he had developed of the rich guy he was paid to track recently.

You were painting your nails, your tongue ever so slightly poking out the corner of your mouth as you applied the colour with precision. After you were done, you sat back- fanning your hands and admiring your handiwork.

From behind you, you could hear Adam set down the pictures. He peers over your shoulder, his chin almost leaning against it, and you could smell the shitty drugstore aftershave he wore...mixed with cigarette smoke and something uniquely him.

"Me next?" He spoke up, gesturing to your freshly painted nails.