He awakened several hours later and groggily rubbed his eyes. Peering through the slight fog shrouding the street below, he could see the iridescent blinking of the light at the end of the street…must be two or three in the morning, he thought. It wasn’t often in Scranton you could get away with sleeping outside in November and not wake up to a frozen limb or two, but Stamford winters were so much milder than the ones back home. He gathered his blanket and stepped back inside, shutting the door with a solid clack.

Immediately, he felt a sensation that he was not alone in the eerie darkness. He thought for a moment that maybe Karen had stopped in and stayed on the couch, but remembering their earlier conversation, he knew there was little hope for that. He was even more alarmed when he spied the soft glow of the street light poking through the slightly opened door. Shit…after all this, now a burglary? Exasperated, he grabbed a golf club he’d left in the corner and walked into the living room to survey the damage. Surprisingly, his new plasma TV, the DVD surround sound system, and even his Xbox 360 were all sitting just as he’d left them. Nonetheless, he figured he should call 911 to report it just in case. Besides, he’d been in every room in the apartment besides the kitchen and despite that, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was in here with him. He made his way to the kitchen and was reaching for the phone when he felt a pair of hands grip the back of his shoulders and heard a familiar, shrill voice cut through the still air.

“SURPRISE!!!”

His immediate reaction was to violently brush the arms off his shoulders and slam the smaller man who’d grabbed him backward into the counter. He had his hand drawn back and ready to connect with his face when he spotted the goofy grin he’d seen thousands of times. “Michael?!?!”

Michael, not even sensing the potentially dangerous situation he’d put himself in, immediately stepped forward and tightly embraced him. “Jimbo! Man, how I missed you!!”

Still numb from shock, Jim staggered back defensively. “Jesus Michael, what the hell are you doing here?!!? Don’t you realize that breaking into someone’s house can get you shot?”

“Jim, I knew you weren’t a gun freak like Dwight…besides, I had to come visit the guy who’s gonna be my new number two. Hang out a little, you know, some guy on guy action…”

“Michael, I don’t think you know how bad that sounds.” He couldn’t keep a slight smirk from his face.

“Ahhh…I see that little grin, Halpert. So, you in or not?”

“It’s three in the morning, Michael. You’re lucky I’m not going to have you arrested…now go home.” The look of dejection he saw forced him to soften his voice…he never did have the ability to resist the puppy dog look from anyone. “Listen, Michael, I know you drove a long ways to come see me, but I’m *really* not in the mood to go out tonight. I had a shitty day yesterday and I just want to sleep it off. You can stay here on the couch tonight but you have to go home tomorrow.”

Michael slipped down onto the couch and stared idly toward a photo of Jim, his mom and dad at his college graduation that was perched on the end table. “Karen dumped you, didn’t she?”

For the third time in the last 24 hours, Jim felt trapped. “Wh-Wh-How did you know that? You never even met her. You didn‘t even know we were going out!”

“Come on Jimmy. Dunder Mifflin is like a hotbed of gossip, and I am like my namesake in the bidness, Mike Ausiello…nothing gets past me. Everyone knew you were hittin’ that. I woulda been on it myself if not for my two other girlfriends…”

Trying not to cringe at the thought of his former boss “hitting” anything, he simply nodded and sat down in the chair facing Michael. “Yeah, she did,” he admitted despondently. “She didn’t like the idea of moving b-, I mean moving to Scranton.” He hoped he hadn’t noticed the little slip. “I mean, I really liked her, I guess. She was fun, and caring, and…”

“Sa-mokin hot!,” Michael interrupted as he reached his hand out for a knuckle bump. “Am I right?”

“Yeah, Michael,” he replied wryly, not bothering to stick his hand out. He was NOT going to play this game.

“You know what you need, Jim-bag? You need to spend some time at Hooters. You’re a young stud…no doubt one of those girls would go out with you.”

“Wow. That is definitely not what I would have thought of…”

“C’mon, buddy…it’ll be fun. Just you and me. It worked back when you had the problem with P-”

“No, Michael. I am not going to Hooters with you. Now, if you’re done rambling, I’m going back to sleep.” There. Crisis averted, he thought. He turned and began to walk toward the bedroom, sidestepping his now functionless cell phone lying on the floor.

“How about Chili’s?” Michael was relentless, and not going to give this up until he got what he wanted. He’s like a freakin’ 8 year old, Jim thought. “I mean, you always had fun at the Dundies, right?” Thoughts ran through his head. Ping. Bowling trophies. “Like second drink.” “ Smelliest bowel movement.” “Fine Work.” Drunken kisses. Questions not asked, not answered.

He smiled, then turned his focus back toward his former manager.  “Sometimes, I suppose. There aren’t even Chili’s restaurants open at this hour though.” He hoped that would cut off this idea that was somehow growing on him, despite its insanity.

“I know one that’s open 24/7...not too far from the N-Y-C either.” He said it with such conviction, Jim couldn’t help but believe him. The man’s zany attitude was winning him over, impossibly, like a slow drain of resistance from his body.

“OK, I guess a late night run wouldn’t hurt too much. At least traffic shouldn’t be too bad at this hour,” he said with a breathy laugh as he grabbed his jacket.

Michael jumped up, clearly elated. “Alright! You driving? Or you can ride with me…my Sebring is a corporate lease, you know.” The only man I know more proud of things given to him than things earned.

“Well, your idea, so you drive,” Jim replied, patting him lightly on the shoulder. Michael quickly gathered his coat and keys and within a few minutes, they were standing in front of Michael’s car.

“Aren’t you going to open it?,” Jim asked.

“You didn’t call shotgun. So not yet, in case anyone else comes…”

“Michael…we’re the only ones going. Why would I need to call shotgun? I’m not 10 years old.”

“Well, Dwight always does.”

“Dwight’s an idiot.”

“True. Alright…let’s do it then.” Jim let out a sigh as he slumped into his seat. John Mayer’s “Waiting on the World to Change” blared through Michael’s speakers as he turned the key in the ignition. He was probably singing this at the top of his lungs on the ride over, knowing him, he thought with a small grin. Michael quickly turned it down to the point where Jim couldn’t hear anything more than a gentle humming coming through the air. They backed out of the driveway as Jim fidgeted with the seatbelt to keep it from cutting into his neck and adjusted the seat backward in hopes to find any stitch of comfort in this too-small transport. He looked at his watch. 3:16. This is going to be an adventure.