"You Can Stay With Me," I Told My Evicted Best Friend — She Thought I Was Joking скачать в хорошем качестве

"You Can Stay With Me," I Told My Evicted Best Friend — She Thought I Was Joking

I never thought watching someone's life explode would happen right next door while I was holding a cup of coffee. Rain hammered down on my workshop roof that night, the kind of steady drumming that usually puts me straight to sleep. But something else cut through the sound. Cardboard scraping on wet pavement. A thud. Then another. And underneath it all, the quiet, choking sound of someone trying not to cry where the whole block could hear. I stood at my workshop entrance with steam rising from my mug, staring across at the driveway next door. My best friend Lily Harper was out there in the downpour, moving like every step cost her something she couldn't afford to lose. She's thirty-four, works in marketing, and normally walks around like she's got the whole world mapped out in her head. Tonight she looked pressed down by something that wouldn't let up. Her shirt was soaked through, sticking to her arms as she wrestled a falling-apart box toward the back of her tiny hatchback. The trunk wouldn't shut. She shoved it. It bounced back. Her shoulder hit the latch and she just stopped, breathing hard, blinking at the rain like it had personally insulted her. Water ran down her face. Could've been rain. Could've been something else. She didn't wipe either one away. I should've turned around and gone back inside. My whole life runs on order. Every tool in my workshop has a spot. My clamps hang in rows. I sweep twice a day because letting things get messy is like inviting termites into the foundation. I don't let chaos walk through my door. I build furniture because wood doesn't lie to you and it doesn't change the rules halfway through the project.