(trying to) lose everyone's number

I'm not as tired.

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I've got a new buddy at Eckerd.

Harry Hicks: 20, insane, 6' and 137 pounds. Drug addled, desperate, and prone to codependency; Harry lives a life of purposeless confusion.

At first, I was worried. Harry lives across the street in one of park avenue's party-boy hovels. I am already all too familiar with this particular shit hole, home to the neighboring laundry matt's sleazy Egyptian manager Alex, and, until recently, our previous daytime cashier/resident drum and bass DJ: Ilya "Ill-phantom" Vinokur -- he was constantly in trouble, in-and-out of jail, dubious as fuck, and, worst of all: Russian. Despite his choice of company and residence, Harry has surpassed expectations to say the least. His competency, and likely, his on-the-job cocaine use, has lead to projects being completed ahead of time.

Now, now, don't look at me that way -- competency doesn't buy my affection. Oh, but, my pity flows out like blood from the closely observed and meticulously abused scabs of lonely, disturbed children.

Our friendship began recently, we were positive before of course, but not like now. I'm sober now, mostly, i fouled up on Monday and benzoed myself hard... hard enough to write "Rick, no, Rich is a Rapist" in the security tower in confident black sharpie; hard enough to start tossing around Chris's baseball with JC and fall over into a customer in midthrow, hard enough to make Sarrah cry -- she worries about me. Since then, I've been carrying around my tiger balm glass container of assorted pills. On Wednesday, when Harry so bluntly accosted me with the question:

"You've got pills?"

How could I say no? I handed off four yellow clorazepams to him. He loved them. He was stumble-drunk and attracting attention until he left. Over the next few days, Harry got progressively more friendly.

Yesterday, as I nursed my headache in the office, he explained the details of his living situation. Apparently, staying with 5 other drug obsessed guys in a studio apartment isn't as much fun as it sounds. Beer pong and the sound of proximate dirty sex has left Harry wanting a life more peaceful, or at least less disgusting. On top of that, the lease expires at the end of August! And! Nobody he knows needs a roommate. If I want, if I don't find him "annoying", he'd move in with me -- he'd even pay 70% of the rent.

I expressed interest.

He followed me around like a puppy for the rest of the night. After his shift ended, he stopped in the store twice.

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Oh boy.

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1 week til I move, Tuesday my tailoring is done.