Living home

I have an italian neighbour who also happens to be a cook. On friday evening I was reading and somebody knocked on my door. Then I saw him, sitting on the stairs, looking kinda sad.
"Do you happen to have a gas bottle?" he ventured.
"I don't, sorry, we have city gas"
"Well, you know, I was cooking, and suddenly ran out of gas. I have this pots full of almost cooked food. May I use your kitchen?"
"Sure, come on in"
One minute and he appears with a big casserole with plenty of vegetables inside, and on the other hand a pan with fried onion and liver. They are already boiling in my kitchen, I look at him, we talk, he let's me try.
"We're gonna make this together. Come on, help me, try it and tell me whether it's any good"
I try it, it's excellent. He turns off the fire. Mixes the liver and the vegetables together. Says "thanks Pere" and walks away with the casserole and the pan.
I continue reading. Some hours later landiman (my flatmate) comes back. He comes with: (i) an american punky that speaks mexican; (ii) an abc from san francisco, california; and (iii) a swedish male vegan. We prepare and have dinner. The punky keeps on making fun of our Spanish. "You can't scare me with those ridiculous words you use in Spain: "joder, mierda, cabrón"... so ridiculous" And then she goes on to recite a list of scary mexican insults. Or maybe she's the one that's scary. She is, actually.
While we are having dinner somebody knocks on the door. It's my italian neighbour, he comes with a tupper-ware full of vegetables with liver: "You have it". He says hi to the people, he leaves.
I offer the liver, the swedish vegan tells me he's vegan, the punky is sort of vegetarian too, of course the abc from sf, california, is vegetarian too, and landiman, well, he tries some until I tell him it's liver and he decides he does not like it. I eat the fucking liver with vegetables myself. It's excellent.
Anyway, that was friday, and now it's sunday night. I have to work tomorrow. Somebody just knocked on my door. I didn't want to stand up and go see who was knocking, but I finally did. It's him: he's holding landiman's jambe.
"You can have it, landiman's not coming back for some days"
"No, have it back, Pere, if I play it for too long the neighbours are going to protest."
"Landiman's away"
"You can come on in to my home if you feel lonely, Pere"
"It's ok, I have to go to bed, I wake up at 7"
"Work?"
"Yeah"
We understand each other. I close the door. I go back to the computer. I write.