Chapter 3

A very satisfying "ahh...” noise escaped through Jeffery's exhaling lungs as the strong discharge floated past his vocal cords. Had anyone been keeping track, this would have been listed as the fourth most satisfying "ahh"s of all time, the first two (unsatisfyingly enough) were simultaneously let out by an overweight Belgian man and his wife, the man who had just completed mastering the qwerty-type keyboard as he sat back in his not-suitable-for-a-man-of-this-stature kitchen chair followed by his wife's "ahh" as the combination of the weight of the man, and the tampered-with oak legs of the chair caused it to collapse underneath him, sending jagged wooden stakes through vital organs, and killing the man instantly, halting his complaining about trying to master the keyboard forever. The third (and even more unsatisfying) most satisfying "ahh" to have ever been heard came from the mouth of Adolf Hitler over the news of Poland's capture.

Jeffery removed the bowl from his lips as if he had just kissed his sweetheart and said 'goodbye, and good luck in the coming business year.' As he laid the bowl to his side on the uneven mattress, the spoon resting inside shifted its balance and fell onto the pewter sheets, allowing that last little bit of milk which always remains on the spoon to seep into the threads forever. Finally he had a moment to assess the situation around him. He looked at the wall and his first thought, naturally, was
'Shit.'
He mouthed it silently, but being the only one in the room the thought was not kept from anyone. Jeffery swung his feet over to the side of the bed and jumped off of it, landing almost perfectly on the pair of socks he had left here earlier. This reminded him of his lack of shirt and underwear and his eyes instantly darted back and forth along the floor. This proved useless as they were nowhere to be found, and he began to hunt for them throughout the house. His eyes surveying the ugly floral faux-linoleum in the kitchen, the out of style shag carpet in the bedroom, and the wet two-inch beige bathroom tiles which continued up the walls for about half a foot before the terribly chosen cyan wallpaper became visible.

On second thought, he took the remark back; this woman had no future for him. Wait a moment...wet? His eyes jumped to the bathtub, no water running there. They moved to the sink, passing the overflowing toilet in the process. Hold on, overflowing? Upon lifting the lid beautifully comfortable Spiderman boxer briefs lay unsuccessfully half-flushed in the bottom, one sleeve of his overpriced plaid shirt peeked out from underneath them. Releasing a not-even-close to the most excellent sigh ever recorded, he turned to exit the bathroom. The water now creating a path into the bedroom, Jeffery was forced to step carefully to avoid his freshly pulled up socks from getting soaking wet, for that would result in the inevitable squishy sound which can only be classified as ear-pleasing upon taking off ones boots after jumping about in rain puddles on a sweet fall Sunday between the time of ten and eleven p.m. But since this was not the case, the case of squishy socks would not be ear-pleasing, and having toilet watered socks was not appealing to Jeffery in the least. Two Bic ballpoints, one Bic lighter, one Bik candy bar (his favourite), and fourteen unpaid parking violation notices later, he had gathered up his things and decided it was time to go. As he headed to the door he stopped short at the exit-table. Quickly pulling out a rather old yet not very crumpled ticket and the blue ballpoint pen he scribbled a note. Placing the pen atop the table to ensure the note would not be blown away by the wind created via swinging door, he gave the place a last nod, took it back upon the thought of his hatred for this layout, shook his head in disgust, nodded at the shake, and left.
On his ride down the elevator, he thought of Annalise reading the note. Jeffery thought of how when people read notes they tend to read in their heads in the voice of the note-writer. He wished she would read it with the voice of an Englishman, for he believed that all narration sounded better through an Englishman.
"Annalise,
Please do not take this poorly, but I am leaving you.
May I perhaps suggest an interior designer?

P.S. I will leave this pen here; you will need it to sign for the water damage to the pleasant velvet on floor below."