I slowly open my eyes, trying to figure out who is sitting in front of me in a particular wooden chair that appears to be one of our dining chairs based on what’s visible on my not-so-poor eyesight while my sprained foot is on his lap. The chandelier in the living room has already been turned off, and the only light on is the low-light lampshade on the side table of the couch where Cathy has been sleeping, so I couldn't see anything or anyone clearly. But there's this guy who is continuously wrapping something around my injured left foot. I can say that he is taller than me. He is wearing a sweatshirt with something long on his bottom. It's either jogging pants or sweatpants, I believe. I decided to get my eyeglasses, which are in my eyeglasses case beside me, in order to see the person mo
