The Sunday morning sun was still low in the sky. It shined through the bedroom window, illuminating dust particles passing through its rays and formed skewed rectangles across the floor and bed.
Time to get up.
Wouldn't you rather sleep in? It's warm here. Safe. Comforting.
You're missing everything. It's a beautiful day. The world is passing you by.
Clothes were strewn about the floor around the bed and in the closet, above which dangled underemployed hangers. The hamper was full, and any articles that managed to make their way into dresser drawers had been stuffed inside so carelessly as to partly spill out and prevent them from closing properly.
Just fifteen more minutes.
You always do this. Put things off. Fifteen minutes will become an hour and then two hours...
What could possibly be better at this moment than this soft bed--a peaceful nap?
He pushed his torso up with his arms and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Sitting at the edge and shivering, he let out a long, exaggerated yawn and rubbed his crusty eyelids.
You can always just crawl back into bed.
Quiet, you!
Yeah. Quiet! You're not helping.
Still groggy, he sighed and stepped out of bed where his foot landed on something small and prickly. He immediately arched his foot and shifted his balance to avoid putting his full weight on it, and in doing so stumbled forward. It was a bottle cap, which he detached from his sole and dropped back onto the floor.
"Son of a bitch," he muttered.
You know things like that wouldn't happen if you cleaned up after yourself.
He looked back at the shiny metal annoyance and proceeded towards the bathroom, stepping around books, garments and empty bottles. He maneuvered with seemingly effortless skill through this minefield despite his daze.
How can you live like this? It's disgusting.
It's fine. I'm sure you'll get around to straightening this up later. It's not like you're having any visitors.
The tube of toothpaste was missing its cap. He picked off the dried part at the end that obstructed the opening and flicked it into the toilet. The bottle of mouthwash was empty save for a few milliliters lingering obstinately at the bottom. He took the final tiny swig--holding his head back as far as possible and the bottle vertically to his lips--and then put the empty piece of plastic back on the counter.
Aren't you going to throw that away?
Maybe you should take a shower first.
Why not pick out some clothes first?
You'll need to see what the weather is like. It might be chilly today.
He went to look for his laptop in the living room, which it turns out was sitting on the coffee table. After sitting down on the couch, he pressed the button, but the screen remained dark. It was out of juice.
"Ugh," he murmured. "Where's that power adapter?"
Still shivering and unshowered in only an undershirt and boxer shorts, he searched the apartment for the cord and eventually found it by the bed next to a copy of the latest issue of the Economist. He sat down on the edge of the mattress and skimmed an article on the European debt crisis.
Wasn't there something you were going to do?
Twenty minutes had passed. He felt parched and decided to go to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, dancing through the minefield on the way.
There were no coffee cans in the pantry, but he saw a box of instant coffee--the kind with the single serving packets. It was empty. He placed the box on the countertop and went to take a shower.
You should go out and get more coffee.
Why don't you go to the coffee shop?
No need to go out. There are plenty of things you could get done around the apartment.
It will be good to get some fresh air.
You'd have to get dressed.
You need the exercise.
He dug through a pile of clothes and found a pair of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. After giving them the smell test, which they passed (barely), he put them on hastily.
The Starbucks is just around the corner.
Wouldn't you rather go to a locally-owned, quaint coffee shop?
You'd have to take the bus. It only runs every forty minutes.
Corporations are evil.
You'd have to check the schedule and time your trip to the bus stop.
The stairwell of the apartment complex smelled rank, like one of the neighbors was sauteing seaweed and octopus in armpit sweat. He scurried down the stairs while holding his breath. Some paint chipped off the wall and fell onto the steps as he brushed against it.
Did you remember to lock the door?
Did you you remember your keys? Wallet?
"Shit."
He had forgotten his wallet and had to go back. On the way, he retrieved the mail from the compartment crudely labeled '14D,' and shuffled through it as he climbed back up the stairs. There was a piece that he was immediately able to identify as a Christmas card from an old friend from its large red envelope, return address label, and relative lack of flimsiness. He opened it while re-entering the apartment and proceeded to walk and read at the same time. His keys were still in the door's handle as it closed behind him.
You came back here to do something. What was it?
It's almost Christmas. There's so much to do.
Have you mailed your cards yet? Bought gifts?
He glanced over at his keyboard sitting on the stand in the corner of the living room and suddenly had the urge to play a song. It was "A Long December" by Counting Crows, one of the few songs he could manage to play and sing along to at the same time. One song turned into three...
Wasn't there something you were going to do?
You were going out and then you came back for something.
Have you made your holiday travel plans yet?
Your wallet!
He found it underneath the bed. But the debit card was not inside, and he had no cash on hand. After some searching, he found it next to his laptop.
OK. time to go!
He rushed out of the building and down the road to the main intersection. The 'Don't Walk' signal was flashing.
If you hurry, you can make it.
It's dangerous. Cars are making left-hand turns.
Everybody does it.
Can't you wait a minute? What's the rush?
The risk isn't worth the reward.
The signal stopped flashing. It was too warm out for a sweatshirt--unusually warm for December--and he began to feel hot and itchy.
After a brief wait, he crossed the street and walked a block past the supermarket, past the pharmacy and to the coffee shop with the green awning at the entrance.
Christmas music was playing inside. Actually, the particular song was secular holiday music if we're to be nit-picky. There was a short line to the cashier, and he craned his neck upward to look at the selection as he queued.
Make sure you know what you want once you get to the counter.
Yeah. Don't be that guy.
It's warmer out than expected. Why not go for a frap?
Plain, simple dark-roasted black coffee. Coffee that tastes like coffee.
"'Tis the season for a gingerbread latte!" proclaimed a chalkboard bordered by gold and silver tinsel.
'Tis the season.
The man in front of him had neatly parted hair and was wearing glasses, a starched shirt and a bow-tie.
Upon reaching the counter, the stranger barked his order: "A venti, half-caffeine, skim, no foam, three pump caramel, one pump hazelnut, macchiato with Splenda, whipped cream and a dome lid."
Brewed with rosewater, of course. And a saucer with gold-leaf trim...
Yeah. Definitely don't be THAT guy.
What a crappy job.
Are you ready for work tomorrow?
You have that meeting in the morning.
"Sir? Can I take your order?" A cordial female voice was coming from somewhere. "Sir?"
The barrista was a short, attractive and dark-haired girl, wearing the obligatory green apron and forced smile. Or maybe it wasn't forced. She may have even been flirting. He didn't notice.
"Oh, yes. Hi. Umm. Medium regular coffee--black, please."
Next to the register were overpriced compilation discs, presumably containing the same music that was currently playing in the shop.
You were supposed to call your mother last week.
Why don't you do that now?
You forgot to bring your phone.
"Will that be all?"
He was already looking around the room to find a place to sit. Two women in the corner were talking about the contents of their shopping bags, which sat beside them at their table in chairs of their own.
"Hmm? ... Um. Yes," he stammered. "Thank you."
It's too crowded in here.
And noisy.
What about breakfast? You haven't eaten yet.
Once the transaction was complete, he took back his debit card and receipt and turned to exit the shop.
"Sir?" she said, a bit sheepishly. "Your coffee?"
It was still sitting on the counter next to a tip jar.
"Oh yeah." He blushed, fumbled through his pockets, and dropped the only change he had into the jar. Grabbing the cup, he hurried away and out the door.
Sitting down at a nearby bus stop bench, coffee in hand, he turned his wrist to look at his watch. Hot liquid spilled over the crotch of his pants.
It was 4 P.M.
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