The first thing collected from the shipping container sitting in the driveway waiting to be fully unpacked is the coffee machine of all things. Sebastian is half asleep, hair in disarray, an asscheek exposed from where his basketball shorts have slipped, opening and shutting cabinet doors after having plugged the coffee pot up, and added water to the reservoir. I watch him from my place on the mattress, hand over my mouth, trying not to laugh. He wasn’t a morning person when he was a teenager either. I vividly remember him stumbling out of bed like a zombie, slinking down…
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