Then I look around. He’s turned the living room into shambles. The afghan that’s usually on the back of the couch is pulled down and twisted, stuck in the crevices between the cushions. The couch’s matching pillows are on the floor and have been replaced by two pillows from his bed, positioned at TV-watching angles. The coffee table is covered with stuff: a slightly ajar pizza box, multiple cans of soda, a plate with half a pizza crust left on it, three different remote controls.
