Mixtape Ghost NMartin Kirkman
The swirly pattern on the ceiling was mesmerizing in the waking half sleep. With the first rays of dawn starting to creep across the curtains it was time to get up. There might not be an NCO to whip him from sleep but it is discipline that makes a man separate from the scum in the gutter. Slowly Martin got up and shrugged into clean clothes. Same jeans, same “Thermals” different shirt, socks and boxers. He walked yawning from his room and nearly had a heart attack as he noticed the girl sleeping on the couch. Possibilities raced though his mind each worse than the last before he remembered where he was and what had happened. Risk of pulmonary embolism averted he let out a quiet breath.
Well, no need to go waking her up with the treadmill. Nothing in for breakfast either. Two birds one stone and all that. Going back and changing into sweats and grabbing a backpack he quietly snuck out the front door losing it behind him and jogged down the stairs. Leaving the building he made his way into the dawn sun along the sidewalk. The cracked slabs passed faster and faster. Most were still asleep at this time; those who weren’t were likely making their way back home from the night before.
He’d worked up a decent sweat when he stepped into the corner shop and found himself the fixings for a few stand up meals. The way homeward was quiet, seems gangs didn’t make the morning life section of the newspaper too often. He jogged up the stairs as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the other residents.
Quietly slipping back in Martin sorted his purchases into the fridge. Precious goods safely stored in the hallowed vault he stepped off to take a shower. Stripping and stepping into the plastic basin, the hot water fell soothing. He could feel the anticipation of the work building in his gut. It grew legs and turned its head, opening its eyes. Dried off he stepped back into jeans and a shirt. There was a new mission for the time being.
The hob called its siren song and Martin reciprocated with pan and piles of bacon followed by eggs and bread. Sizzling and crackling filled the air heralding an aroma fit for the gods. A blur of spatula movements ferry meat, egg and fried bread to plates in two massive glorious piles. Silently setting the plates on the table he sat down and began invading the nation state that was breakfastlund.