“Have you seen the sofa?” asks Bins. “No,” I say groggily. It’s no longer but seven o’clock. “Come out now,” he says, “I insist. It might be long gone in 1/2 an hour, and then you definitely be sorry.” There’s never any factor arguing with Bins.
I should attempt to persuade him that I can’t likely care approximately something I’ve by no means visible. But I’d need to awaken to do this, and anyway, I wouldn’t prevail.
So I move slowly off the bed, drag myself over to the sink, scrape a brush across my tooth, and throw a warm sweater over my pajama tops. “Okay,” I growl. “Lead me to the couch.” Bins are already outside, pushing something massive and gray. “Look!” he yodels. “You will adore it!” Standing after him is a tall, pinkish blob, sporting white-on-white pajamas and blinking in the sunlight like a landlocked elephant seal. “This is Carl!” says Bins, speakme in exclamations. Apparently, he’s the new upstairs neighbor who moved in even though we were away in India. “We’ve just met! He doesn’t need this modern sofa!”
The factor is lengthy and smooth, covered in mole-grey suede leather, and maybe converted right into a chaise-longue using casting off one of its facets. It appears ideal for a psychiatrist’s consulting room. “It’s beautiful,” I say, in a lukewarm voice, “Except we without a doubt don’t have a location for it, DO WE BINS?” I cannot imagine why he thinks I might be inquisitive about the sort of monstrosity. “It’s FREE!” exclaims Bins, his mustache wriggling about with the sheer anticipation of a lovely deal. “And it’s new! And we can throw something else out…”
“No, we can’t,” I say and retreat indoors, feeling like an elephant seal, preparing to defend my single square inch of the beach. Bins and I are already packed in so tight that we can’t sneeze without smashing a saucer or overturning chairs. I cannot consider why Bins thinks we need but greater furnishings. When he comes lower back in, he explains that he feels sorry for negative old landlocked Carl. “He appears simply lonely,” says Bins. “He keeps his lights on all night time lengthy. He performs Country & Western track all day. He orders mountains of IKEA furnishings that he can’t bring upstairs on his own.”
“What has came about to the couch?” I ask. “We left it close to the Dunkin’ Donuts dumpster,” says Bins. “But we’re not speculated to depart huge matters within the car parking zone!” I say. “Dunkin’s control will make us pay to cast off the couch!” Bins wiggles his eyebrows at me. “You fear an excessive amount of,” he informs me. “The couch is loose. It’s new. Someone will carry it off.” I glance outside. “It’s beginning to rain. That couch will get sopping wet. D’you even realize whom to name to get it eliminated?”
“Stop disturbing,” says Bins. And bet what? One day later, certain enough, the element becomes gone. “Wow. Someone took it!” I tell Bins. “Of path,” he says. “Welcome to America.”