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then he would stare at his screen blankly, drooling a bit while daydreaming about Connie. His ear remained clogged, but he paid it no further attention. He'd grown accustomed to it. With silence surrounding him, the ear's condition became a vague and distant memory, closeted somewhere in the nether regions of Clive's temporarily vacant mind.

CHAPTER 6
    On his way home from work, Clive stopped by the local CVS for some Q-Tips and breath mints. Then he headed to the liquor store for a twelve pack of Sam Adams. His brother would be stopping by to watch the Sox game, and he planned to be the gracious host. A giant bag of Buffalo wings awaited his arrival, secretly stashed in his freezer behind a bag of ice. He prayed his roommate hadn't found them yet.
    Clive lived on the top floor of a two-family dwelling in the Village, the oldest part of Somerset, Massachusetts. With his meager salary and college debt, the majority of his paycheck each week was spent before he received it. He had no choice but to rent and simply couldn't afford to live alone. Using Roommates.com, Clive hooked up with an antisocial college student named Kevin Ventura, and the two agreed to share the costs of living over the next two years.
    Kevin, however, wasn't all that bad. For Clive's tastes, the arrangement worked out rather nicely. Kevin kept to himself, cleaned up the common living spaces and paid his half of the rent when due. Clive could see there was something not right with the boy, but he didn't care. As far as he knew, nothing illegal was going on, and Kevin stayed out of his way. If he could only get Kevin to stop pilfering his food, Clive's home life would have been as near to good as he could ever have hoped.
    As he climbed the stairs to his infernally hot apartment, lugging his beer and other purchases, Clive could hear the sound of the television echoing into the hallway. Is he watching Hannah Montana? he wondered, hearing a familiar, flaky-privileged voice as he neared his apartment door. Thoughts of Billy Ray and his star-power daughter made Clive a little queasy.
    "Hey, Kev," Clive greeted as he pushed open his door with his foot.
    Without so much as shifting his gaze from the television, Kevin responded, "You need a hand?"
    "No, I got it. Thanks."
    Clive walked over to his refrigerator and looked inside. Unsurprisingly, there was plenty of room for the variety pack of Sam Adams. He shoved in all twelve of Mr. Adams' beer, box and all.
    "You watching TV?" Clive asked over the kitchen counter.
    Kevin shot back a dirty look as he sat sunken into the cushions of their stained and tattered couch. Duh , his facial expression suggested. What the fuck does it look like I'm doing?
    Clive exited the kitchen and walked toward the television. Oh my God. He is watching Hannah Montana. He briefly perused the screen, not remotely interested in the dialogue shabbily playing out before him. Well, I will say this. That Vanessa Williams is a hottie. But if she's in it, then this must be the movie. Dear God! How do I know that? Am I a closet fan? He hoped that Kevin hadn't somehow noticed his astonishingly adept knowledge of the Hannah Montana franchise.
    Kevin remained fixated on the screen. He didn't seem to be watching it, preoccupied with some unknown thought. Clive watched him in wonder, waiting to see if Kevin would blink. Eventually, he gave up.
    Knowing Kevin, though, he's probably whacking off to little Miley. Clive returned Kevin a similar look of disgust.
    "Well, my brother, Kyle, is coming over. We were planning on watching the game. Is that cool?"
    "Huh? Oh. Yeah, no problem."
    Kevin picked up the remote lying beside him on the cushion. A moment later, the screen went black, lights out on Miley Cyrus' phony-smiling face and, hopefully, her career. He got up, walked to his room and closed the door.
    "I didn't mean now," Clive said, the door to Kevin's room slamming out his words. "Plus, you're welcome to watch the game with us."
    It was no use.