Nothing got done last night.
I came home to lights on and a locked deadbolt. I don't have a key for the deadbolt. Richard's car wasn't in its usual spot and besides, he had class last night.
Someone was in my fucking house.
Already late, I ran downstairs and hollered toward Ned's room: "Ned? You up there?" His whine was comforting. Next, I ran up the stairs to our neighbors' house; they hadn't seen anything.
Blunt and I decided to try jimmying one of the windows, but as we came back down the stairs I saw the door open.
Richard was home. His ringer was off (so he didn't hear my frantic calls or his wake-up-and-go-to-school alarm) and it took the dog's persistant whining to wake him.
I spent the rest of the night drinking beer (Marti gave me one), trying to calm down, and watching Richard play Fallout 3.
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