• I woke up in my room, the daylight’s sun hitting my eyes. I moaned. I’m more of a night crawler than an early bird. Though, today I have things to be done. I kicked off the soft, presently warm blankets and walk across the oak boards. Each one seamed to breath out a morning breath creak with each step.
    I picked up my cloths I warn the day before, sniffing them. They all smell like they could stand another day. I put those all on real quick, hearing a knocking at my door. I never ask who it is. I slowly made my way over to the door, picking up my gun off my night stand. I looked through the peep hole.
    “Yo, dude, open up.” Jason said. I sighed a breath of relief, which was much more pleasant than I thought it would be. I must have left my window open, because I tasted a small amount of sweetness in my breath from Miss. J’s flowers from next door. It was nice; I must remember to do that more often.
    I opened the door, letting Jason in, throwing the gun onto the bed. He was dressed similar to me, only a tad warmer. He had on a pair of old jeans that were riddled with rips and permanent wrinkles. He had his triple-layer-usual on too. It was a white t-shirt and long, button up sleeve shirt with a heavier cotton jacket or light coat. He doesn’t change that basically all year round. He’s either nuts, or has poor circulation. He says circulation, but I disagree.
    He had a brown paper bag that he threw onto my bed, which is right next to the door, and it bounced next to the gun. “Yo, I brought you breakfast.” He said, walking over to the couch and turning the TV on, resuming the game he was playing yesterday. “It’s your favorite. Bacon and Miracle Whip on a blue berry beagle. I made it special for you.”
    I nodded, looking in the bag. I sigh, pulling out one of the muffins in the back. I shook my head. He got my hopes all up to just give me a muffin. I hate muffins. I wound up my arm and threw the muffin hard and fast at his head.
    It missed and exploded into billion crumbs on the TV. “Yeah, I forgot to tell you, I was hungry on the way here and ate that monstrosity of yours. So I bought you a couple muffins.” Jason said, not even turning around to look at me.
    “Dude, you a d**k. You know I hate muffins…ah well. I’ll go see if Miss. J would want the other one. Please house sit for me.” I said, throwing on a hat. Jason just let out an understanding “ugh”. I picked my gun back up, pressing the magazine release and checking to see if it was loaded. It was, so I inserted the magazine back in the gun and placed the gun in my jacket’s inner breast pocket.
    I walked out, not bothering to close the door on my way out. I’m just going next door. I walked down the carpeted floor, smelling an odor that strangely resembled urine and cheap cleaners. I stopped suddenly and knocked on the door of room 345.
    “Miss. J, it’s me Michael. I have breakfast for you. You up yet?” I hollered loudly. I thought I might have woken her up, or disturbed her sleep, be sure enough, she was up. I heard that classic tunt scuffle scuffle tunt scuffle scuffle of her walker and slippers. The door creaked opened and Miss. J looked up at me, smiling.
    She was old, old lady. She had to be pushing three hundred or something poor thing. She’s a peppy antique though. She wore a pink and white pokadotted house dress that complemented her magnifying glasses crested on her face. Her skin was pale as paper and her wrinkles were deeper than a well. She had no teeth at the moment, but she has a pair of drenchers she says she puts in for ‘special occasions’. Her slippers marched the pink house dress, while the walker was one of the few modern things so owns.
    I bought that for her. It was thanks for being such a good neighbor and friend. She’s the closest person I’ve had for a mother in my life.
    “Michael? Oh Michael, its sooo good to see you. You simply must come in and tell me how things are going.” She insisted, opening the door father. She sounded small, but I don’t think it’s because she barley budges the four foot mark. She’s just a soft spoken woman by nature. “Miss J, I can’t. I have some work to do today. Though, if you made that killer spaghetti and meatballs, I can guarantee I’ll be free for dinner.” I offered her. That seamed to light up her world.
    “Wonderful! Now, I’m only going to make enough for two servings, so if you bring any of your friends, give me a call so I can make more!” the giddy child in front of me said. I was worried she was going to pull a muscle from smiling. I said I would defiantly call her if anyone else was coming (I never bring anyone with me to Miss. J’s) and gave her the muffins.
    I closed the door for her and walked back to my apartment, noticing the slight smoke in the air. The anxiety feeling didn’t hit me till I entered my apartment. There, standing over my obliterated, utterly destroyed pile of smoking parts, which was originally my TV, was Jason, with a bat. His chest was rising up and down, looking down on his fallen foe.
    Then, as if his rage was transferred to me, he looked up at me with a face of embarrassment and said “I lost. But I’ll make it up to you. I’ll get you my TV!”
    I sighed, hand over my face, my gaze slicing through my hand at Jason. “That WAS your TV! You gave that to me cause you broke my oven!” I shouted.
    It’s going to be a long day alright, I can just tell.