When Turner rode up on the sidewalk and down the walkway that led to his apartment, he knew something was wrong because he could see a big pile of shit parked in front of the door. He got off the bike and confirmed what he’d thought. The pile was all of his belongings.
He rapped on the door, and after a couple of minutes Will opened it, shirtless. “What the fuck do you want?”
“You can’t just throw my shit out on the lawn. I live here.”
“Set foot in this apartment and I’ll break out all your fucking teeth.”
Turner looked at Will’s muscled chest and arms. “Your frat is a bunch of douchebags,” he shot back, but he didn’t try to enter the apartment. “Give me a couple of big trash bags at least, willya?”
The door slammed, reopened, and out flew two large Hefty’s. “Get lost, Turner. If my dad didn’t know your dad I’d beat your ass just for standing there.” The door slammed again.
Turner bent over and began stuffing his few possessions into the garbage bags. “Thank dog my fuckin’ books are paperbacks,” he said to himself. As soon a he got the bags knotted, it started to rain, and amid more curses he embarked on what he would later consider his greatest ever feat on a bicycle: Crossing Austin and descending Congress Avenue in the rain with two enormous trash bags.
He swung off onto Lavaca and pedaled up to Clementine’s apartment. He must have looked like the bedraggled rat he felt like, and he was cold. She opened the door and looked him over, saying nothing, but not moving aside, either. “How’re things working out for you, Turner?” The corners of her mouth were turned up, but he wasn’t sure if she was smiling or if she was insinuating victory with her lips.
“Great,” he said. “Today seemed like a perfect day to ride in the rain with all my shit stuffed into a couple of garbage bags. It was either that, or, you know, get all my teeth beaten out by my roommate.”
She laughed, but still didn’t move. “I’m shocked, absolutely shocked. To think that those Sig Ep boys would stick together like that. And you being a philosopher and bicycle rider and all.”
“Money’s thicker than water, I suppose.”
“Money’s also thicker than blood, honey. Money’s the thickest shit there is. I suppose you want in?”
“Grass, ass, or rent money, Turner. Nobody sleeps for free.”
“Okay,” he smiled. “Just promise me that when it’s your turn to throw all my shit out onto the lawn, you’ll do it on a sunny day.”
She stepped aside and he walked in, still breathing hard from his crosstown effort. His nostrils sucked in the air of the apartment. The whole place smelled like woman.