“Mom, are you coming to dinner?” Who asks me the question is the dependent minor (MEC) number 3, right now, almost, my only roommate one week yes one week no. The senior in charge (MEC) number 2 enters and leaves and makes his life of twenty years and is a theoretical and rhetorical flatmate but not very present.

I receive the question with remorse because I will say no, that I am at Kras’ house telling us about life, now that it is Saturday. And Laura and Imma are coming and I don’t want to miss it. And as I concentrate high doses of bad conscience in half a millisecond, he lets me go: “I’m telling you because I’m going to shut up playing with the computer with my friends and eat pizza there.” In other words, I’m disgusted, and now the space of decaffeinated, skimmed and overworked guilt, because remorse is something else, is occupied by a kind of indignation. And I’m about to tell him I might already be missing out. That we get together for lunch and dinner on weekdays and that, I don’t know, we could watch a movie together. But I know, “Nah!” Kras. You know I’m five minutes away. ” And with the excuse that we’re actually just four hundred and fifty yards away, according to Google Maps, the remorse is almost gone.

When I’m having a good time with my friends, in a way that when you’re a teenager you think you can only do it then, and I look at the time, and I see that it’s time to go back but not yet, still a little more, I think tomorrow i will tell MEC number 3 to go where they are together. But he won’t want to. Maybe I’ll suggest you cook whatever it is together. And I guess I can’t mess it up either. And I settle for sitting at the table together, eating and telling us about life and asking about augmented reality, which now interests him. Yes, I will. The few remorses just run away and I laugh again. In case the flies send a message to MEC number 3: “All right? I’m coming now.” It takes ten minutes for the clock to respond and it does so with a smiley face. Okay, you don’t need me. Okay, I don’t need remorse. Just a miiica, which give me a little taste. Live life.

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