“You know, I thought it was homier in here.” Posey looks around my apartment. “It feels . . . cold. Is it the concrete walls and floors or the lack of area rug? Maybe both.” “Can you shut the fuck up and just help me?” I ask as I place a bonsai tree on the kitchen counter along with some of the supplies needed to take care of the stupid thing. I opted for the juniper bonsai tree because Posey insisted it looked more like a Sherman than the other varieties. The fucking thing was fifty dollars. Fifty dollars for a miniature tree.
