Alan's apartment was everything one could expect from a bachelor approaching his thirties. He was a software programmer working as a freelance telecommuter. The place lacked any decoration or colors – the living room consisted of a worn-out armchair and a sofa from his aunt's house, the kitchen had only a fridge and a microwave oven, and in his bedroom, there was just a bed and a nine-hundred-inch TV connected to a gaming console. The only exceptional elements were the two computers and three screens occupying a not-so-discreet space where the dining table should be.
"What do you think?" Alan asked after receiving the bottle of wine I brought to celebrate my new job.
"It's... I like it," I said, sounding unconvincing, crossing my arms as if I feared something might emerge from the shadow
