What what?

I came home and found my copy of Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man strewn about the apartment in about fifty different pieces.

I then looked at the couch and saw what Harley-Scalia thought of my adverse possession outline:

I told Harley exactly what I thought of him. Revolutionary Road style. He’s sulking in the bedroom right now. We’ll make up in a second, but I want to let him stew for a bit.