Eric lived in a non-descript, mid-rise building in the South Loop. When he’d described his place as a “depressing little studio apartment in the city,” I thought he was exaggerating. He wasn’t. His apartment was dark and small and had a lovely view of a parking garage and the L tracks. It also lacked a sufficient amount of furniture. In addition to a couple of mismatched stools pulled up to the breakfast bar, there was a flat screen TV, a leather recliner, and an air mattress on the floor.
“You don’t even have a bed?” I asked as I looked around.
Eric shook his head. “I haven’t gotten around to looking for one. The guy who owns the condo put all of his stuff into storage, so I had to furnish everything myself.”
“No wonder you always want to come to my place.”
“Your place is nice.”
“You
