My own bed again. And if you'd believe it, I still haven't bothered unpacking. Haven't really had the time.
Went by Miranda's house yesterday.
Actually, let me preface this by saying that she hasn't answered her phone in two days. She always answers the phone. Even if it's just to say "busy now, talk later."
So I walk to her house. We've got plenty of snow here, nice and crunchy where it hasn't turned to slush. Knock on the front door. No answer. Maybe she's gone somewhere? Don't recall her having any plans though. And there's a shit-ton of mail piled up. I took a look, she's got one of those flap/slot things on her door for mail.
At least a week's worth.
Of course, the neighbours seemed a little wary of some short white dude in a jacket looking through someone's front door. Threatened to call the cops on me, so I scrammed.
Went back that night, there's no lights on in the whole house. Where the everloving fuck are you hiding Miranda?
Hey, Mir? If you read this, pick up your fucking phone. So I can punch you through it. I will find a way to do it. Disappearing is not fucking cool.