Dave's not here, man

I honestly can't remember how long it's been since I had my last roommate. I want to say it has been about eight years. That could be correct. Since she moved out, she bought her own place across town, then left Texas entirely. She lives in Holywood now and works as an extra on some popular television shows. It seems to make her happy. You couldn't pay me enough to do what she did, though. I would hate to leave my home, quit my job and cross my fingers like that.

I still have these reminders that someone else used to be here, though. Sometimes, a letter comes in the mail for her. Every six months or so, I get a spate of calls from bill collectors trying to locate my ex-roommate. I'm still not sure how they got their hands on my cellphone number. I tell every one of them that they have the wrong number to the wrong person in the wrong state. In short, "Dave's not here, man."

Today, I had a moment of mild panic walking up the sidewalk from the mailbox. It was already getting dark out when I checked the mail, but I could still make out that one of the envelopes was a jury summons. 

Crap. 

Until I came back through my door and saw it in the light. It wasn't my jury summons. I wonder how many years she has to live in California before they stop looking for my ex-roommate here? 

So, Lori- if you can see this- you've been called up for jury duty. Better book a flight.