The mystery

During my internship, I’m staying in a sublet apartment, fully furnished, of a Yale Law student, who is gone for the summer, working somewhere further south.

When I’m home, other than dancing to The Roots in my pajamas, eating ice cream out of the quart-sized container, or watching episodes of 30 Rock on Netflix online, I’ll peruse through the CDs, books, cupboards, etc. of my new apartment, wondering and guessing, only with the stereotypes that go along with certain things we possess, what he might look like.

The fact that I found half-drunken bottles of white wine underneath the TV, cuban cigars, handmade Vodka in the freezer, a signed football poster, pearl earrings in the drawer that a girl might have left when she was over, along with a record player and vinyls by Schubert and Bach, with a magazine clipping stuck on the fridge that says: Make War, Not Love, makes me think he looks like Jack Donaghy.

But then I found a pair of Ray Bans in the drawer, along with CDs by everyone from Obie Trice to Radiohead to Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, with a cupboard full of Whiskey, and framed prints of Roy Lichtenstein (American pop artist from the 60s), hanging above his bed, which makes me think he looks like this.

But also, the only DVDs he owns are TV show seasons of Futurama, movies with ninjas, or Kurt Russell, which makes me think he could also look like this.

There are no pictures of himself or anyone in his family in his apartment at all, so I'm thoroughly confused. Oh, the mystery.