I knew you were tired, though you denied it. You were muttering about open and closed doors and your sexy girlfriend but your words were blending together and you kept swaying whenever your eyelids fell closed. Now you're snoring on the red couch in the room I was supposed to sleep in. We had spent the evening playing Connect Four and listening to you talk. You're arrogant, but you have good taste in music and books. You probably just think I'm crazy for organizing the condiments. I hope you have fun in Seattle visiting your mom and remember the name of that one nice girl there. I hope you read the note I will leave in the sweater you let me borrow because I won't see you in the morning. As a matter of fact, I hope I never see you again... But it's unkind not to say goodbye.