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I froze. “What?”

“It’s unlocked!”

I tried the knob and the door opened.

I stepped inside and yelled, “Why the fuck would you announce that?”

Klair appeared from around the corner holding something that looked like a gun.

I screamed. “BITCH!”

She screamed because I screamed. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What the fuck are you holding?”

She looked at her hand. “A glue gun.”

“That is not a glue gun.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Why does it look like a Glock?”

“Because I decorated it and made something like a case for it.”

I stared at her, then I looked at the colorful plastic contraption surrounding an actual hot-glue gun.

“Why?”

“Because I can.”

“You’re going to burn this colorful-ass apartment down.”

She looked around. “If it goes, it goes.”

“You live on the fourth floor. Other people live here.”

“That sounds like management’s problem.”

I closed the door behind me when Klair narrowed her eyes.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Why does something have to happen?”

“Because you don’t visit without texting first.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No. You text, ‘You home?’ I say yes, then you show up thirty seconds later because you were already downstairs… and you have your sad purse.”

I looked down at my bag. “What the fuck is a sad purse?”

“That big brown one.”