2019-12-10 - Eat the sandwiches, motherfu...

No more than an hour or two before Easton's bar generally closes, Harper drives over to his apartment. She obtained the key to the place from Geoff with intentions of, well, doing Harper things. After getting past security, she heads up to Easton's apartment for the first time, hauling a bulky, item-filled basket along with her.

Finding the correct door, the librarian sets down the basket, knocks several times, and identifies herself clearly in the hall for anyone who might actually be inside the apartment to answer. It wouldn't do to barge in on the man, even if she still owes him for the incident at the key-lime trailer. They've had more than enough of those sorts of encounters, as far as Harper is concerned. It may only be now that she's realizing that the man could actually be at home. Worse yet: he could have company.

When no one answers the door -- he's at work, she concludes, with abrupt relief -- she lets herself inside. And there she is. Another person might stop and reconsider what they were doing at this point. Another person likely wouldn't do this at all. Not Harper. Instead, she swings a slow, curious gaze around the upscale apartment. And certainly the sad cardboard box serving as a coffee table is noted. Despite her temerity this far, Harper doesn't feel particularly at ease doing much more than stepping into the apartment. If they knew one another better, there'd be a mess of activity on her part. But not this visit. Not yet.

Harper has taken the phrase 'care package' to another level, as she is wont to do. The basket she picks up with a quiet grumble of sound from the hall floor outside the door is easily the size of a small dog bed, though it wasn't made to be such. She carries it over to the nearest flat surface to make sure it's easily seen upon entry to the apartment. After re-arranging the items in it just so, Harper grabs a stack of ziploc-wrapped sandwiches and heads into the kitchen to pile them in Easton's refrigerator -- and that's the furthest she'll delve into his place.

This all done, she leaves a note folded in half atop the stuffed animal in the basket, sets her hands on her hips, and casts one more look around the place. "No," she says aloud, firmly. "Don't even think about it." Huffing a sigh, Harper pivots and heads back out of the apartment, making sure to lock it back up the way it was locked when she arrived. She heads back out, past security in the lobby, and back to her car to drive off wherever it is that she goes this late at night. Geoff's place? There's a good chance. She needs to return the key, after all.

In the basket are the following items:
a single bottle of water (it's more symbolic, really)
a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol (she's got a feeling)
a foil bag that contains one pound of freshly roasted and ground coffee from a high-end roastery (more with that feeling)
the half dozen various meat-and-cheese sandwiches bagged for easy refrigerator retrieval (already stowed in the refrigerator) -- each one has some insult or epithet written on the baggie in black Sharpie, beginning with her original insult from bbq-n-plague night: 'Sonovabitch' (none of the insults are specifically tailored to philandering, she stayed away from that)
a sixpack of the inimitable bowling league-approved cheap beer
a tin of cinnamon altoids (Harper's favorite)
a magnet of the famous 'Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas Nevada' sign,
a Deluxe Nerf'n'Strike Elite Disruptor, complete with the 200 dart extra ammo pack
a plush, stuffed leopard
And, the piece de la resistance? a cheesy heart-shaped frame containing a photo of none other than the Geoff Turner flipping the camera off at close range

The note on the folded piece of paper reads:

Easton,
There are lows in life. Without them we wouldn't have the highs. But that doesn't make them any less painful. I wouldn't presume to know how you feel, but I can tell you that good friends are there no matter what. Geoff prizes you as the best of friends. So, with that you get a taste of Harper whether you like the flavor or not. Do what you will with these things. They're simply meant to remind you that you're not alone and that things won't always be this way. If you need anything, day or night, you can reach me at XXX.XXX.XXXX. Eat the sandwiches, Motherfu...

The expletive trails off illegibly, likely intentionally. In a far more readable, bold yet fluid scrawl is the name 'Harper'.