Here's a list of things I have done or said in the last twenty four hours that have annoyed and offended Rube. I got to hear all about it over breakfast.

1. He is offended that I was so skeeved out by the fact that he had me naked in a bathtub while I was unconscious. Well, excuse me, Rube, I really didn't realize at the time that your libido like dried up and fell off a hundred years ago.

2. He didn't know that the only reason Mason was interested in finding me in the first place was that he was going to sell me drugs.

3. And to top it all off, he still can't believe what a picky eater I am.

I think being bitched at over my cereal was the most he's talked to me in a week.

Oh, also, he said that I'm no good at writing place - he said that I described his apartment like some cluttered hole, like the basement of the salvation army. I told him that it is a cluttered hole, and why does he keep all of this shit anyway? Some of these boxes look like they haven't been opened in twenty years. Plus it's not like anyone will ever read this anyway, except for him. He just went back to not speaking to me again and read his newspaper instead. Since I just want to get this stupid thing done with, I will now proceed with describing this place in detail, and maybe he'll just drop it.

Rube lives on the fifth floor of this old building in Ballard, which is a neighborhood full of old Swedish people who drive like six miles per hour. There's this old elevator with a brass doors that look like they've never been polished. Everything in this building is just old and run down, and I don't know why Rube lives here except that he's probably been living here for like fifty years and everyone knows he hates change. There's one big room that has all of Rube's stuff in it, like his bed and a desk and his TV and all of this other stuff that's usually covered with a drop cloth. There's a hallway with the bathroom, my room, and a tiny little kitchen that is stuffed from floor to ceiling with boxes of stuff. You can't even see the stove. When Rube cooks, he cooks on a hot pot in his room. I asked him once why he didn't use the kitchen, and he said that the kitchen was added in the seventies, and that is was full of asbestos and fuck ugly vinyl flooring, and that it was a total abomination. I asked why he didn't just renovate, and he looked at me like that was the stupidest question he'd ever heard.

So Rube collects all of this junk that he won't get rid of, and he's totally obsessive about it. Oh wait, here's the best part. He's got fifteen pairs of white sneakers lined up against the wall by the front door. I am not kidding. Fifteen. So there's the description that you've been waiting for, Rube. Your house is a depressing, cluttered hole, and you have way too much stuff.

The morning after I woke up in this place, I had a better idea of what was going on, and it started to occur to me that what was going on was pretty weird.

Rube woke me up and told me to get dressed. He threw a duffel bag full of my clothes at me. I asked him how he got my clothes, and he told me that when Mason had shown up at Matt's looking for me, Matt called me a whore and threw my shit out the window. Nice. I couldn't find my wallet or cell phone, and when I asked Rube where they were he said that they were probably with whoever clubbed me and left me in the dumpster.

That was a problem. Not my wallet - Cash is just cash, and it's easy enough to get more - Santos gave me that phone, and we had a deal. I don't really feel like getting into it here. The basic idea was that he would call, and I answered. I always answered. I didn't want to think about what would happen if he called and I didn't answer. It never crossed my mind to not answer. I mean, it's Santos. No one ignores him.

I said that maybe I could call my phone and offer to buy it back from whoever had it. Rube said to forget it. Well, not exactly. He said, "That's a bad idea." But he didn't say "don't do it".

Anyway, after I got dressed which wasn't easy since everything was inside out and some of it wasn't even mine, and I found my shoes, which still smelled like dead body, we left. We got in Rube's truck and I thought we were going to Der Waffle Haus, but after about fifteen minutes of driving we pulled up in front of the DMV. That made sense. Since my wallet was gone I needed a new driver's license. The DMV is for dead people like the I guess that old image of the beauty parlor is for the living, someplace to hear gossip and bitch about your friends. The living don't know it, but almost everyone who works at the DMV is undead, and they have all day to stand around talking about other undead people and bitching about them to each other. So when you get there, the undead person behind the counter wants to gossip and find out all your business so she can talk about you behind your back about how you slept with someone she used to sleep with.

The DMV bitches, they love Rube. All middle aged cows do. I think it's because he's so... clean? Punctual? Boring? I don't know. He bathes on a regular basis (I know, unfortunate as I am to have seen him in his bathrobe), he shaves, he knows how to dress himself, and he always has money. Plus he's really fucking nice to them, saying things like, "Good morning" and "Please". Even when he's insulting he's nice, like when politely says he's not interested in going to the movies with them.

I got out of there as fast as I could, because I did not want to start the merry go round of where I was from and who I knew (slept with) that they might know (be sleeping with). It wasn't until we were out in the parking lot again and I was looking at my ID that I noticed something. On my Nevada card I was Juliana Thompson, 21 years old, of Davis Street. I liked being Juliana. Juliana was sexy and sophisticated. On this ID I was Astrid Ingegaard, age 18. First, I was like, what kind of name is Astrid Ingegaard? Definitely not sexy. Then, I noticed the birthdate.

"Hey. This says I won't be 21 until 2008."

"That's right. A little negative reinforcement to help you keep your nose clean. Maybe you straighten up, maybe you'll be treated like a grown-up."

I glared at him. And then I noticed the address. Fucking Ballard Street! I pointed it out.

"That's my place."

"Your place?"

"You'll be bunking with me until you decide that the rules apply to you."

I went kind of crazy then. I yelled and swore, and called Rube a lot of names. People in the parking lot stopped and stared. Rube grabbed me by the arm and got really close to my face. I hadn't realized before that I was almost as tall as he was. He didn't have to crouch down much.

"Have you forgotten what we talked about last night?" He hissed.

I twisted my arm, trying to get away, but he was holding me really tight. I said, "What, you're going to beat me up here? In front of all of these people?" I started yelling for help.

Rube dropped me like a hot rock and took a step back. He glanced around at the people, smiling calmly. He said through his teeth, "Get in the truck."

I laughed at him.

"You either get in the fucking truck, or can I leave without you and find someone else to reap your souls. You know what happens when you don't reap your souls, Jane?"

I stopped laughing.

Rube kept talking through his teeth. "You really want to find out how tough you are against the gravelings? I knew a guy in natural causes a few years ago, Frank, decided he didn't want to reap souls anymore. You know what happened to him? You know any gravelings that answer to Frank? I do."

I felt sick. Rube was wiling to throw me to the gravelings to get me to toe his stupid line. How fucked up is that. After a moment I got in the truck, and then Rube got in. We sat in silence for a couple of minutes before he spoke. It was like he was reading my mind.

"If you don't want to find out what it's like first hand, you'd better fall the fuck in line."

"That's blackmail!" I said.

"No, it's extortion. Do you know what the difference is?"

He's so condescending. I said that obviously I didn't know what the fucking difference was. He said to watch my fucking tone of voice, and then he started the truck and peeled out of the parking lot toward Der Waffle Haus. The rest of the day was unpleasant. I was pissed. We went to meet the others, and I found George in just as pissy a mood as I was, because she thought she was still getting harassed at work. I did not have time for that drama.

Mason was really sorry for taking me to Rube's, and he slipped me my weed when Rube was in the can. Roxy showed up looking smug that I was there. She was just eating up my misery. I was really scared all of a sudden that Rube was going to tell her what he'd threatened to do to me. She would have loved that. Roxy is a total sadist, no matter what she says.

I didn't have a reap that day. I had to join Rube on his reap that afternoon, which was in a salmon canning plant and so boring I almost died. I smoked a cigarette and watched while Rube reaped his soul, some poor fucker who got crushed by a forklift that was lifting pallets of frozen salmon guts. Not as exciting as it sounds. Then Rube said he was in the mood for fish, so we had to go out for sushi, which I personally find disgusting, so I just had coffee while he ate. Then we went back to the apartment.

Here's where things got horrible.

I knew Rube would be mad at me for going mental on him earlier, so I was ready to get yelled at, threatened, whatever. I watched him hang up his jacket and cap. The whole time he was talking about how if I was going to defy him and act like a spoiled kid, he was going to treat me like one. Then he locked the front door and turned around.

"Well," he said, "Let's get this over with." He started pulling off his belt. "Take your britches down."

Britches. I guess he meant jeans, since I don't wear anything that comes close to looking like they could be called britches. I took a step back, and held up my hands.

"What?"

"Get them down, bend over."

"No! What the fuck? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He raised his eyebrows. "You're not scared, are you?"

"No." I glared at him. "That doesn't mean I want you to hit me, you psycho!"

Rube just shook his head at me. "This is going to happen whether you cooperate or not, kid. Come here." I watched him step toward me, and I backed away.

"Don't touch me. I'll scream."

He shrugged. "I'm sure you will. Go ahead. Mrs. Hardaway in 5C's as deaf as a post, and the downstairs apartment has been empty for a month. You won't be bothering anyone." I was totally freaked out. There was no where to go. I thought about running, trying to get the door, but he was in my way. He backed me up to a wall and grabbed my wrist, then jerked me around until I was facing away from him. Then he raised the belt.

I couldn't help it. I saw his arm come up out of the corner of my eye, and I ducked. A second passed, and then Rube jerked me back around to face him. He looked really, really pissed.

"I am not going to hit you in the head. Do you understand, Jane? Say you understand."

I just stared at him with my mouth open like an idiot. Rube looked disgusted. He threw his belt across the room and let me go, then told me to go to my room. I could not get out of there fast enough.