Chapter 3 - Grease on the White Leather
The living room was a monument to manufactured apathy.
An oversized, white leather sectional dominated the space, its pristine surface now scarred by empty brown glass bottles and crumpled paper bags.
A young man lay horizontal across three cushions.
His beige t-shirt rode up, exposing a soft, unguarded stomach.
His thumbs pounded furiously against the glass screen of a glowing tablet, his eyes unblinking and glazed over.
Opposite him, a young woman lounged in a heavy, plush robe that dragged against the floor.
Her bare feet rested inches from a cardboard box stained translucent with oil.
She chewed open-mouthed, pulling a long, greasy strip of fried chicken from a bone.
She tossed the bare bone onto a pile of discarded napkins.
Neither of them looked toward the kitchen.
Neither of them noticed the dark silhouette cutting through the archway.
May you like
The television blared a daytime reality show, splashing erratic, artificial blue light across their bored faces.
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