So Andrew has been appearing at our house in the mornings. He slips into our basement boiler room, changes into a clean set of the clothes stashed therein, and heads off to the bio lab where he does programming.
"This is what is rumoured," Megan said of the odd closet choice.
"No. He told me this," Beej said.
Andrew's reasoning behind this is that he can't get the fresh clothes back to his apartment after washing them in our machine.
Which begs a certain question, considering the laundry had to arrive AT our house somehow.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
tales from life in a co-op
under our roof
a glassblowing alternajournalist, a musical storytelling anarcho-baptist, a capoeira-playing engineer, a renaissance physicist, a scrabble champion math teacher, a neurobiologist philosopher, a filmmaker documenting the deadliest man alive, an international flutist biologist, a journalist animator baker, a hiking biking banjo-strumming math teacher, a singing bilingual editing, a backgammon playing sex therapist, a novel-writing psych nurse guitarthlete, a pensive epistilary collage artist & two cats.
Blog Archive
-
▼
2007
(46)
-
▼
May
(17)
- love & absorption
- bangled spangled tangled and spaghettied
- why he was chanting "ulan ude"
- rock stars
- camp haymarket
- a la peanut-butter and psychically-cut-banana-sand...
- kate's story
- never discuss masturbation with a woman
- first impressions
- dressing room
- hells angels fart pot
- if only our convos were as savory as our menus
- corrigan's retirement plan
- the haunting of the wooden mexican
- luxury
- sinking ships
- she's a girl and she's my friend, but...
-
▼
May
(17)