Author's Note: So, the LOCI characters are not mine. I borrow them (without asking).
Each chapter is a scene on a common theme – maybe like that montage of character stuff that I crave on LOCI but do not see very often. So, come play with me, shoot me a review, tell me what you think, and inspire me by sending me a scene.
Breakfast time
Breakfast. Well, breakfast time anyway. Or, maybe it was more like brunch. Mike Logan stood in front of his refrigerator, wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt. It was about 10:00am and he had just crawled out of bed. It was Sunday, and after a late Saturday night, he liked sleeping in. Hell, he just liked sleeping in. He opened his refrigerator door, thinking about something to drink. He loved coffee, but for the first thing to drink, he dearly loved a Coke. Something about the bright caffeinated bubbles on his tongue felt like a great way to start to the day. He loved the splift noise the pop tab made, he loved the fizzy swoosh as some of the pressure released from the can, and he loved the icy cold feel of the can in his hand. He closed his eyes as he drank half the contents in a few swallows.
As he set the can on the counter and turned to start a pot of coffee (you can never have too much caffeine), he thought about that new fangled pop tab. He thought about the old fashioned pull tabs from when he was a kid. He thought about cleaning up the tiny dank living room of his mom's house, and having to clean up the place after whatever she had done and whoever she had done it with the night before. He thought about the beer cans, with their separate tear off tabs kind of littered on table, on the floor. He shivered, and found he had a new appreciation for that new fangled pop tab on his can of Coke, and the memory went a long way in terms of explaining why he preferred to drink beer from a bottle or from a glass.
Breakfast. Well, breakfast time anyway. Alex Eames ran her palms along the sinewy muscles in her arms, stretching the sleep away from her body. She wasn't certain if she was in the mood for breakfast, but she knew she would feel better if she ate something before she went for her run. Maybe a banana, she thought to herself as she looked at the bright yellow perfectly ripe bananas on her counter top. She glanced at the clock, just before 8:00am. On the days she worked, she had to squeeze her run in before her shift, and it was often cold and still dark. She liked Sundays, she could slow things down a bit and actually go for a run when the sun was up and the winter day was a bit warmer.
She reached forward for the banana and grabbed a table knife from the drawer. She expertly started the peel with the knife. When a banana was at perfect ripeness, forcing the peel with the top of the banana always seemed to smash that portion of the banana. And, who liked pulverized banana? So, Alex started the banana with a single small slice of the table knife, perfect peel, for a perfect banana. She took a large bite and continued to stretch as she chewed. She was thinking to herself that maybe she would extend her run for a few miles, today felt like a good day.
Breakfast. Well, breakfast time anyway. Or, maybe it was just simply dawn. Bobby Goren shuffled into his kitchen and opened his refrigerator door. What to drink, what to eat… not much. He stood in front of the blaring bright light of his refrigerator letting the cold air wash across his tired mind. He closed his eyes for a moment, still half asleep, and stumbled sideways a bit. He was feeling older now. Something about the past year made it feel like decades of life had finally caught up with him.
He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a container of orange juice, with lots of pulp. He looked at the words "lots of pulp" and smiled. Funny words. Though honestly, he really did appreciate that pulp was the key to a good glass of orange juice. Orange juice without pulp, you might as well be drinking Tang. He poured the orange juice into a coffee mug and was about to take a sip, when it occurred to him that he had just brushed his teeth. Orange juice and toothpaste was a hideous combination, so he reached into his freezer and retrieved an icy bottle of vodka. He took a deep mouthful, swishing the nearly frozen vodka ever so slightly across his tongue before swallowing, effectively neutralizing the toothpaste. He lifted up the coffee mug of orange juice again, contemplating taking a sip, but first he poured a generous measure of vodka in as well. Steady up, he thought. No work today. It was Sunday.