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only just moved a few months ago into the apartment next door.   Albert had never spoken to her, never looked directly at her.   Something about her made him nervous, the same way that stampeding elephants and old dynamite might make him nervous.   He pulled the plastic key card from his wallet and fumbled it into the door lock, turning the handle sideways when the light flashed green.
    “Honey, I’m home,” he announced, rushing into the apartment and slamming the door.   He stood and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark.  
    The apartment wasn’t much –gray carpet and white walls, a linoleum kitchen nook in one corner, a small living area unexplored by the eyes of children.   It was immaculately clean, practically unfurnished, sterile; as if it had been stored under glass only to be broken in case of emergency.  
    A dim light oozed from the back room, along with the rapid clacking of fingers on a keyboard – clackety-clack, clackety-clack .
    “Hon?   Did you have a good day?”
    Clackety-clack .   Clackety-clack .   The ceaseless hum of online browsing.
    Albert didn’t bother to turn the lights on.   After hours of standing under an endless field of searing fluorescent bulbs, he found the darkness soothing.   He took a step forward and stumbled with a tiny yelp, almost toppling over as his foot caught a large, oblong shadow.   Steadying himself against the wall, he rubbed his toes and inspected the thing through watery eyes.   It was an open box, empty except for a bit of plastic and Styrofoam.   He could just make out the five words stamped top of it in cold, black letters: Home Furnishing – This End Up .   
    “Honey?   Did you order new furniture.”
    Clackety-clack .  
    Albert looked to the center of the room, instinctively knowing what he would find there.   The futon   – his refuge, that hibernatory den that kept him warm and safe, that shielded him from the outside world like a tauntaun’s cozy innards – was gone, a doppelganger left   in its place, a new version of the old but smelling of chemicals and covered with a ghastly blue-flowered upholstery where a faded, soothing gray had been.
    Albert’s heart sank.   She had no right.   It was only a year old.   And it was his.
    He inspected the tag on the box.
    $25.95.   It was a bargain and everyone knew it.
    Reluctantly, Albert flopped down on the futon, reclining against the crisp, new-car smelling upholstery of the inflatable cushion, and stared into the empty flat screen of the television set.
    “TV on.”
    Click.   The TV turned on.
    Click.   The TV turned off.
    “TV on.”
    Click.   The TV turned on.
    Click.   The TV turned off.
    “TV on.”
    The television exploded into a host of retina-searing colors, bowling him over with flashing logos and fast moving tickers that zoomed across the bottom of the screen quicker than the human eye could read.
    --inGammaQuadtodaykillinfortyfivepeopleAfterabloodstirringseventhgamethef ourteenthannualWorldDodgeBallVictorycupgoestoteamDeltaTheCEOofOmega-Martsaidtodaythatprofitsareexpectedtorisefifteenpercentthisquartermakingthisthemostproductivequarterofthe—
    A deafening burst of electric guitar music rocked Albert’s eardrums.   He flinched involuntarily and, as if to berate him for this act of cowardice, the small, well-groomed figure inside the television began to scream at him.
    “IN OTHER NEWS, ALFONSE WANG REIGNED SUPREME LAST NIGHT ON BOWLING FOR THE WHITE HOUSE , WITH A RECORD BREAKING VOTE TOTAL OF FIFTY-FIVE MILLION, EDGING OUT ROBERTO FISK, WHOSE TOTAL OF THIRTY SEVEN MILLION VOTES KEEPS HIM FIRMLY IN SECOND PLACE.   BLAMING VOTER APATHY, FISK MADE ANOTHER LAME ATTEMPT TO EXPLAIN WHY HE DOESN’T HAVE WHAT IT TAKES, ONCE AGAIN PROVING THAT HE’D MAKE A LOUSY PRESIDENT.   LET’S TURN NOW TO OUR PANEL OF EXPERTS, OMEGA-MART’S VERY BEST POLITICAL TEAM, TO GIVE YOU A FAIR AND BALANCED VIEW OF THIS YEAR’S -- .”
    Click.   The TV turned off.
    “TV on.”