What I’m currently working on

When I woke it was still morning. It didn’t feel like any time had passed but I felt refreshed. A loud knock came from my front door. I picked up my black iPhone and checked the time. It said ’12:05,’ but it was still Saturday. I could have swore I didn’t wake up until twelve when I was at Zane’s. The knock came again, louder and more impatient. I sat in my perfectly made full sized bed. It was like I wasn’t even sleeping in it. I guess I was really tired. Normally I was a really wild sleeper and all the pillows were kissing the floor and the sheets were in knots. Don’t ask me how. I guess I do some acrobatic things in my dreams. The knocker grew even more impatient because this time there was a loud thump like they kicked the door. They’re going to regret that because that door is really heavy. They probably did more damage to their foot than the door. I rolled out of the bed with my golden locks smacking me in my face. I shuffled to the door barefoot. When I opened the door there stood a lanky teenager with a black pullover hoodie that had a picture of Fall Out Boy on the front. I didn’t think there was still any fans out there, besides me, even with their comeback. He pushed off the hood revealing his sandy blonde Bieberesque hairstyle, and flashed his amazingly white and straight teeth at me. He had his hands in his hoodie pocket probably along with some pamphlet about how God can save me, a new skin cream that could make me ten years younger, or some product which was only “19.95.”
“Sorry kid I’m not buy what you’re selling.”
 He just stared with his green, wait no almond, no now they’re green. How can his eyes change colors? I must still be tired. His smile never faded. He really did remind me of those door-to-door salesmen. I gave him a tight lipped smile and shut the door. These sales people are getting smart. Send a cute kid to the door and I’m sure that anybody would buy from him. I would if he wasn’t so damn weird and actually spoke.
“Aw, you think I’m cute. I don’t get that a lot.”
 I turned to where the voice was coming from, which was to my left on my pleather couch. My eyes bugged out when I saw the sales boy laying on it with his black Chuck’s on one of the pillows. I mean it was pleather but it still cost more than that kid would ever see in his allowance.
 “You know, you assume a lot. You don’t know much about me,” he said while putting his arms behind his head.
“You’re right I don’t know you. Now, get the hell out of my house.”
He laughed a short clipped laugh, and sat up.
“Technically, it’s an apartment not a house.”
“Ever hear ‘home is where the heart is?’”
 “Aw, that’s sweet. Are you secretly ninety-seven and have that saying cross-stitched on a pillow somewhere? Is it this pillow?” he asked pointing to the one his dirty chuck taylors’ were laying on

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