At first there were three friends and me in the garage. Good friends. The best. Two boys, two girls. I cooked and cleaned because I had no money past what I had to feed myself with.
One left. The boy. I moved to his small bedroom from the garage. I missed the hard floors and the faintest smell of motor oil. Now I had some money to give for rent. I still cooked and cleaned.
Another left. This time the girl. The girl I moved one thousand kilometres for. She was my oldest friend, so I missed her. I moved into her larger bedroom, and a stranger moved into the small room. I cooked and cleaned more. The stranger didn’t clean once.
The last friend and I both left. Couldn’t stand the stranger, but had grown close with each other. Closer than I was with my oldest friend, even. We downgraded to a dilapidated apartment. We didn’t have much choice as we didn’t have much money to afford choice. I missed the sunlight in the old house, and the quiet.
Now I feel like the last friend has left me and I’m one thousand kilometres from home. We hardly talk now. Not like we used to. The common ground is gone and all that’s left is a shared wall and a shared bathroom. I miss my friend.