Breakfast; Not So Fast

Very early in the morning he woke up; Instantly he got up in his lazy manner, looked around the room which was filled with morning light and headed to the bathroom. He washed up, trimmed his stubble, washed his face with cold water, put on some after shave, wore a little cologne and came back to get ready and go.

He put on a bright, loose t-shirt, her favorite jeans (those faded tight ones that make him look a couple of years younger) along with his sneakers. He wore his hair very short so there was no problem in that area. A few splashes of cologne here and there and headed out.

His favorite music was already on in the car, he brought the track back to the beginning and set out to her place. It was a quarter to nine and they were supposed to meet at nine. He was always punctual; not even a minute early or late. He was picturing her getting out of bed in one of her delicate satin sleeping gowns; the ones that just drift right on her curves and flow at times. You could easily see the tips of her full breasts in those; her hair would be in all directions, but she would very fast and skillfully give them a wave and leave them exactly where they should be.

She would then go and stand by the window for a while just to set the mood of the day. After a few minutes (sometimes as many as twenty or so) she’d snap out of it and head to her restroom to go through her morning routine. There are soaps and gels and crèmes and perfumes and they all smell of sweet spring blossom and cherry vanilla.

She’d put on one of her denim shorts (the ones that have shredded ends and kinda stand a little above her bum line, those ones) and she’d throw on one of those white, open-shoulder tops of hers which make her look so sexy; with her hair parted and left somehow disheveled all around her, right down to her waist line.

She would get all busy making the coffee, waiting for him to come and set the table. She’d be waiting.

He wants to make her happy, so he goes to that new bakery on 8th street and gets a few freshly-baked rolls for her and then heads to the corner shop to get some of that French cheese she has recently got interested in. he’s thinking of the items he wants to set on the table once he gets there. He wishes she’s put on some nice music which she, of course has.

In another house, a few blocks away, a girl is still in bed. She’s suffering a splitting headache; a hangover. She’s had so much to drink the night before and the last thing she thinks about is getting out of bed. She’s thinking of last night, of all that she has done. It’s starting to be all clear to her, what she has done. Yes, only now can she see what she has done; what the consequences of her past actions have brought upon. She feels empty because of all pain she has inflicted. Now she has broken a heart and has left a lover unloved. She does not want to get out of bed any time soon. She just grabs hold of the telephones and dials a number.

He answers the phone with a little bit of difficulty; rolls in one hand and cream cheese pack in the other. He doesn’t feel very good, seeing her number on the screen; answers reluctantly and waits for her to talk.

She doesn’t know what to say and just hangs up the phone. He doesn’t seem to care; at least not for now. Maybe later they will talk but for now he’s gonna have to go up and set the table for the two of them.

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