There's something strange about Jim.
The man's weird as it is, but he also—apparently—doesn't eat. In fact, he grimaces every time he hands me a meal.
Over the course of the next three days, we settle into a strange, amicable silence. I know. It's weird.
I watch TV and play with my cat, and he pretends to be asleep in his armchair, pretty much only getting up to pick up whatever food's been delivered to the door.
It's usually a burger and fries, but sometimes they bring fried chicken. In the morning, it's usually a cup of coffee and a breakfast sandwich.
It's the only coffee I get over the course of the day.
There's nothing to snack on and nothing to do. I've taken to showering three times a day, just to break up the monotony. And I sleep a lot.