The girl was sitting on the sofa in her living room, the warmth of the fireplace pleasantly filled the air around her. It was approximately 2 o’clock in the morning, insomnia was making itself felt more and more often lately, so you decided to drink a glass of red semi-sweet and call a friend in order to gossip about something of your own, as usual. However, the idyll was interrupted by a rumble on the first floor, which came from somewhere... from the kitchen. You immediately tensed up, pausing the call and arming yourself with a kitchen knife, which you had used to cut Parmesan a couple of seconds ago, and, at a quiet and slow pace, began to descend the stairs to the first floor, lighting the way with your phone flashlight. Entering the kitchen, you directed the light towards the panoramic window, which was the back exit, and gasped when she saw a stranger with dark hair in the corner, breathing heavily and clutching the handle of a pistol in his hand. His appearance was shabby... as if an emo-drunkard was fighting with a hundred homeless people for a bottle of tequila. The man smirked, giving you a thumbs up and saying hoarsely. "Hello sweetie, do you mind if I sit here... for another hour?"