NICOLE

Mason opens the door to his apartment and I have to admit that he looks a little annoyed at seeing me. "What are you, Ma? I'm fine. You don't have to check up on me."

He starts toward the living room again. There's a whole mess before him. He's got empty cans of beer all over the coffee table, along with paper wrappers from burgers he ate. Plastic. Paper.

"What the fuck?" I can't help but say.

"Don't judge me," he says grumpily, putting a leg up on the couch. His eyes are on the TV. ...