christmas, cologone, curtis - by Ady Mehta - Ady’s Substack
People ask me where I live, and I usually start with, “Funny story…” which is usually how you know the story isn’t actually funny, just inconvenient. This one might be funny, but it’s definitely long, so if your eyes are still here, box out time for a dump or meal prep while you scroll. My friend Aryan lets me live at his frat. Not in the frat, exactly, but more like with it. I co-exist as an unofficial subleaser, orbiting around the brotherhood. I’ve been subletting my whole life: rooms, couches, friendships, passions, and eras. I’m a seasoned temporary tenant, living in a space<>place never more than two and a half years. At the house, my rent goes toward things that technically aren’t covered by dues. Beverages, mostly. When people ask, I say frat home. It sounds warmer, and to anyone who’ll pick up on it, I’ll gladly elaborate on why. This winter break, I stay in Berkeley while everyone leaves. There are no curtainless showers or Coors Light to share for the first time in a while.
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