Someone muted the house chat mid row. Now we communicate through cupboard doors and passive tea making. Modern flatshare conflict is just delivered on silent.
Tag: adulting
Kettle on, someone half dressed, my cereal in the crossfire. I live here. I work early. Your new friend does not need any kitchen tours.
Bins, money, whose turn, why the hallway smells. Nobody booked a meeting. The kitchen just becomes court and I sit in last night’s makeup still.
I can hear the message being recorded next door. Then it pings my phone. We live six feet apart and still perform distance like strangers.