Feather in a Baseball Cap

I have a bit of a confession. I was in the bath tonight, marinating in cucumber bubble bath and ZZ Packer's prose when the fire alarm went off. And by fire alarm, I mean Renee, my RC, burst into the room yelling, "FIRE DRILL" in a voice that cannot possibly fit in her small body. I could hear her through the door of course, I'm not deaf. In fact, I'm sure if I was deaf I could have still heard Renee. But I didn't jump out of the tub to play follow-the-leader with the residents of Beachcomber and Lido. I was naked. Really naked. Instead, I turned the knob to make sure the water didn't drip and give away my position, and slunk to the door in a towel to make sure she had taken the apartment to be empty and left to parade her girls down Rosecrans Avenue at 11 at night. I then spent the next 10 minutes sniggering to myself in the tub, feeling perfectly sinister for disobaying Biola and risking a $50 fine.

I'm only confessing because I know all of like, two people are acctually going to read this.