Third Saturday in a row. The apartment was fine — clean, warm, a show playing that he wasn't watching. He had messaged three people earlier and none had replied, which was nobody's fault, Saturdays were Saturdays, but the quiet in the apartment had a specific shape. It wasn't peaceful quiet. It was the kind that sounded like everyone else was somewhere else, together. He thought about putting on real clothes and going to a bar alone, and the thought of being at a bar alone was worse than the apartment, so he didn't. He ate leftover rice standing up and told himself he'd go to bed early.