(no subject)

He finds himself in a routine. He's got the other Losers, a handful of friends his own age besides. He gets laid occasionally. He works on his book. He teaches classes. He grades. He's managed to track down a handful of his books, and they're stored on a bookshelf that's well on its way to being stuffed. It's not a bad sort of life.

Not long after he'd arrived, he'd had keys cut for the Losers, all of them. He'd wanted them to know that is apartment was a safe place. That, no matter what, he'd be there if needs them.

So far, he hasn't regretted that decision.
He settles down on the couch, reading submissions for the back to back workshops he has in the morning, a beer open at his elbow.