For lunch, a dear friend gifted me a crafty aluminum lunchbox filled to the thin brim with salty cheese crackers and smoked trout. The aroma of the smoked fish drew me in like a beautiful woman using the art of seduction. With red wooden chopsticks in hand, I grasped small bits of the trout and led them to my moist lips. Already, my mouth started to drip from the hunger sign of drool. I stole the virgin bite. Even to this late hour, there are still scales hidden between my teeth as if they are playing hide and go seek while I sleep until morning.
In the wake of the red dawn after my well deserved slumber, my brain is telling me to rise with the rooster. My first usual routine is to ignore the rooster and place imaginary duct tape over my brain. Every time without fail, this routine leads to karma which seems to wake me more alarmingly than the rooster.
After I finally kick myself from the comfort of my raunchy bed, I hobble to the kitchen table and confront a blue ceramic bowl. The blue ceramic bowl stares right back at me, empty and infested with cobwebs. The dusty clothes I toss on my back every morning hiss at me like snakes, and even then, I never knew the color they used to be. The hat I cap the bald spot on my head with is stained of a teen prank that caused the poor thing to smell abominably of mustard and lemon. It is high tide I sit where my ass once sat every day.