I saw him walk into McDonald’s slowly taking off his motorcycle helmet in slow motion to soft music playing and a light breeze wafting through his hair.
Sunday I wake up around noon with the sun high in the sky. It beckons me to wake up and fulfill the days missions. “What missions?” I grumble between rubbing my eyes and searching for coffee. Our fridge is more like a mysterious cave than usual. I have to search two different shelves and even relocate a water jug. Oh iced coffee, my precious precious friend. (They buy groceries on Saturday, me having not been home much on Saturday the last I’d seen of the fridge it was a barren desolate thing.)