I was a little leery at first, but QGJ assured me it would be fine. Besides, we’ve been getting some strange people in robes breaking and entering our place of late. (Normally that wouldn’t bother me so much…it’s just that incessant cackling grates on my nerves.) So we sped on our way over to the Jedi Temple housing with only a duffle bag of clean robes and a toothbrush and some…eh…video tapes to my name.
But when we opened the door, I began to think that the YMCA might have been a better option. The place had a thick orange haze hovering in the air, his big screen TV was firmly fixed on the wrestling channel, and there was an odd, sour smell coming from the bathroom. The kitchen looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a month while dozens of empty beer bottles dominated every possible counter space. Funny that the garbage can under the sink was the cleanest thing in the house.
Then I got my first good look at Obi-Wan…
Man, has he let himself go. I thought Jedi’s had weight restriction rules. But I told myself it was only temporary. I could live with this for a few weeks. After all, I use to live out of a dilapidated sandcrawler for months on end, I could do this. I just need a little office space and a bed and I would be fine.
Obi-Wan snapped his fingers (releasing a fine plume of Cheeto dust) and grabed a TV dinner tray. “Eh….here’s your office,” he told me.
I rolled my eyes. “Great. Okay, where’s the bed?”
“Um….I don’t have an extra bed…”
“That’s okay. Which couch do I get?”
“Um….I can’t spare any couches at the moment. It’s bass fishing season and I got to let the frogs out.”
I tried not to think to hard on what he said. It only made my head hurt. “Okay…so where do I sleep?”
Well…aint this cozy.