Her apartment always smelled like orange, not the fruit but the color. I think it was the spray she used. She said she made it, but I doubt it. Every time I opened her door I would be surprised by the smell because right in the middle of her living room was a box overflowing with trash. She affectionately (creatively) called it her trash box. I always felt bad throwing in my empty beer bottles and mac and cheese bowls, because they’d still be there the next time I visited. Every time I. . .