“Oh . . . my . . . fuck,” I scream like a man whose nuts just got lassoed off before levitating off the floor and right on top of the slats of the bed. “Mouse,” I squeal. “There’s a fucking mouse in here.” I point at it as it runs back and forth. “A rodent. Right there. Holy fuck, a rodent.” Wylie turns toward the mouse just as it scurries toward me again and under the bed. “Ahhhh, it’s under me,” I scream as I attempt to leap off the bed, but unfortunately, the bed can’t handle my weight, and the slat I’m standing on buckles together in a snap and my foot lands on the ground with a resounding
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