"That's it?" I asked. "That's all you've got?" All he moved in was a suitcase full of clothes, a trunk mostly clothes and some books, and a toothbrush. No pictures, no furniture. That was a good thing. No towels, no bed, no sheets. That was a bad thing. Because it meant he'd want to 'borrow' my stuff. I always hate roommates who aren't self-sufficient.

"The rest of my shit is in New York. And I got rid of most of it when I went on tour." Liar, your girlfriend threw your stuff out on 96th street! Greg told me that he'd gotten dumped.

"Are you planning to sleep on the floor or are you planning on getting a bed or something," I asked.

"Well, I thought that we could just share your bed until I got mine." Great, Mr. Breeder has a sense of humor. Well, he'd better, 'cause I wasn't in the mood to make his life easy. "Oh come on, Frankie. Can I call you Frank?" he said facetiously.

"No."

"Okay. Fran." He smiled. He actually was cute when he smiled. "Cheer up, babe. Think of it this way. You're not losing your space. You're paying your rent -- and getting a security system!"

"How's that?" I asked.

"Me!" Like he was going to protect me. "Really, it's a lot safer to have a man in the house."

"Oh, puh-lease. Save me from your ego trip." I laughed.

He suddenly looked a little sheepish. "Uh, do you have any towels I can borrow?" he asked almost politely. I thought about it for a minute. And my pity over took me. I can't believe I'm letting this guy live here. Greg, man, you owe me one.