My name is Will DeFries, and this is a Sunday Scaries Podcast. You are cure for the Sunday Blues.

His apartment was nothing to call home about. In fact, he actively avoided calling home about it for

fear that his mother would lecture him about all the reasons he should have never moved so far away

in the first place. Besides his phone, his coffee table is the most expensive thing he owned,

and even that he got for pennies on the dollar due to some unfound luck on Craigslist.

A top it's had a small plate that he used in his attempts to burn incense, but for whatever reason,

he could never actually keep it burning. Next to it was a stack of books he'd been meaning to read

that he'd picked up from a discount bookstore in the neighborhood. He always gravitated toward

the classics despite considering himself the opposite of Well-Red, but he considered his intent to

read them almost as impressive as actually reading them. In order to afford his studio,

or at the very least afford paying first and last month's rent, he sold his bike. A Bianchi,

his parents had gotten to him when he had originally moved to the city, and whilst complete and

utter lack of possession should have stressed him out, it didn't. It was the first time in his

adult life that everything surrounding him was definitively his. His coffee table, his knife block,

his wicker basket holding extra bedding in case someone wanted to sleep over after having too

much to drink. His only issue on this particular night wasn't that he still didn't have cable or

that he'd slightly overcooked his salmon, but that the only window facing the building's courtyard

was stuck. While it may have been a blessing for it to be seemingly glued shut on any other fall

cold night, they were at the very end of a three day Indian summer that he knew he'd be craving

come January. He had tried everything, taking pliers to the latch, banging on the handle with

a rubber hammer, the only thing he hadn't done was a port to his landlord who probably wasn't going

to fix it anyway. For all intents and purposes the window was his lifeline, his outlet to the world,

...