Almost, she said. So I left the bed and headed to the kitchen. I made myself a sandwich, poured myself some chips. Crunched myself some Cheetos™, orange greases licked my lips. Then I poured myself some lemonade, strolled over to the telly; turned on the tiny desk, but my shirt was kind of smelly: sweat mixed in with food. I smelled myself smell better. 

Washed my hands with orange soap, searched YouTube® for the letters: best of NPR, RNB very far; best of was behind the scenes, mandolins, mariachis, cow bells were clanging. Then I remembered, what she said left me banging. So back to bed was where I went, but she had turned the channel: 90-day fiance, ANE Bravo was on. I asked if she was finished? Finito, Ciao Bella (I'm gone).