My apartment didn't feel like my apartment. The furniture was in all the right places, but there was a layer of dust on everything. The coffee cup I'd left out on the table was gone. The stack of magazines on my kitchen table wasn't there. I was afraid to check what was in the fridge.

Over the desk, I'd hung a cork board, and on it, I'd tacked pictures. Ticket stubs. Things cut from magazines. It was all still there, but the faces in the pictures were eerily blurred. There was one of Derek, sitting outside The Bite. I'd snapped with my cell phone and printed on a shitty library printer, but it was faded and almost unrecognizable.

Nothing about the place seemed real or like it was mine. I kept thinking I saw things move, but only when I wasn't looking directly at them. Maybe the shadows themselves were alive.