Lives like this
We’re in a McDonald’s, the one in the Sokos building in downtown Helsinki. We’re sitting at a corner table, me with my back to the wall because I don’t like people watching me eat. We moved in together two weeks ago. There is no door between our rooms and when I get up at eight in the morning for my half-day job, she wakes up to the clacking of my keyboard and the glow of my screen. Our lives have become like this, too: adjacent, separated by a thin interior wall, a wall with a window at ceiling level but no door. We pass through each other on our way in, on our way out. We sit together, bored, watching MTV, anything that moves fast enough to distract, both of us only a spark away from popping open that first beer which will lead to the next and the rest of the evening and a new day. She is unemployed; I feel like I am. Some nights she sleeps next to me. Most mornings we wake up in our own beds. We are happenstance lovers, though this isn’t love.