My roomie Mags, Maggie, Maggiekins (I reserve that to tease her to hell and back), or my personal favorite Maglite (the power went out once and she made a ball of light appear from her fingertips so I had to give her shit for that) just left a few minutes for some personal errands. I think that was code for Mage stuff, which I totally respect since I have the Immortal shit I deal with.

But that's besides the point. I was left to my own devices for several hours so you know what? I'm gonna enjoy the most of it and break this flat in with style.

I'm standing in back of the couch facing the stereo. With a quick flick of my hands, I hike up the collar around my neck to the white shirt I'm wearing. Sunglasses perfectly in place, I hit the remote control and Bob Seger begins to cue up. Throwing the control over my shoulder, I loosen up my shoulders, arms, hips and legs, waiting for the inevitable beat to blast out of the speakers.

Oh? Did I forget to mention I'm dressed in nothing else except my underwear and socks? Oh yes! This place is gonna rock like Tom Cruise in Risky Business. Don't give a flying fuck if the neighbor's complain. It's 3 in the afternoon! Michele wants to play!

...

OK. You're allowed to beat me for making up a HORRIBLE impromptu rhyme. Seriously.

Oh! Saved by the piano! Air guitar at the ready! I fall back into the couch. Hips in the air, I churn out the meanest rifts that would make anyone jealous as feat pound against cushions and I cry out in rock 'n roll bliss.