Waking up when she wakes up two hours after I go down I’ve got a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch poured and she’s got a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch poured and these Cinnamon Toast Crunch aren’t going to last very long. I want a second bowl so bad, but can’t for both our sake. The idea of mixing Raisin Bran into my cinnamon infused milk is unappealing, so I drink the milk and get back in bed, the smell of cat crap no longer haunting our apartment.

I wake next to find my eyes welded to my phone screen. My left one lulling like Sartre’s.

I’ve got to change things up, I say, putting on a Bukowski T-shirt.

Write to live. Write while standing. The dog would love to go out and the place could always be cleaner. I pull back the drape and take a look outside. It’s a beautiful day. Sixty seven degrees according to my phone. It doesn’t get much better than the breech of fall.

I open the door. The smell of cat crap has dissipated even from the hallway. I am a hero. The roach carcass is still on the stairs though. Do I have to clean up that mess too? Lord in heaven.

A cool breeze blows. The walk loosens the grip of my crookneck. An Icy-Hot sensation radiates through the affected area. I walk around the block rather than just down the street. The dog could use the walk. He hasn’t been getting as much exercise since Musette started on the morning shift.

He poops in a planter outside the paved soccer field. There are no teams playing today. A van with a loud sound system backs up to the curb next to the planter. The annoying sound of plastic rattling on plastic emanates from the hatchback. I try to hurry up and get this over with, accidentally and too easily opening the wrong side of the poop bag. These are the cheapest bags we’ve ever had. We bought them from the pet store down the street. The other day I had opened up the wrong side of the bag without knowing it, and had ended up carrying a warm turd in my bare hand. I don’t plan on making that mistake again.

Back inside, the dog is hungry. He’s pushing his food bowl around the room with his nose. I put a half a cup of food in the bowl. Spotify streams from the Bluetooth.

I make the bed. While I’m making it, the buzzer for the apartment rings. Looking out the window I see a UPS delivery person. It’s a black man. I don’t answer the door. We are not expecting any packages and we have already recovered Musette’s wallet. The man below is not the same one that took her wallet. I have no good reason to answer the door. If the package is for somebody else, then what sort of position would that put me in? Would I have to knock on one of my neighbor’s door?

I watch the man walk away and then I finish making the bed. I put a pot of coffee on. I am not very hungry but eat a handful of peanut butter M&Ms while in the kitchen. Musette had put them on our Fresh Direct order. It almost made me cry. Hall and Oates comes on. The song is Out of Touch. I skip it and then She’s Gone comes on. I’m not in the mood for Hall and Oates. I skip again and get Shape of My Heart by the Backstreet Boys.

Nick Carter is on Dancing with the Stars. Piper had stayed up late last night to watch him dance. He was the last dancer. She has never watched a season before. Musette watched much of the last one. She liked Rumor Willis, Bruce Willis’ daughter. She was always trying to get me to watch it with her, especially the episode where they danced to Disney songs. I did end up watching that episode but none of the others. Rumor Willis ended up winning. Now she has a spot on Chicago the Musical.

The kettle whistles. I go into the kitchen and put four scoops in the press, a little much considering I’m only making a half-press. Coffee for one.

A fly takes off from the counter as I am reaching for the kettle. It probably came in through the open windows last night. I bet it could smell that cat crap from miles away.

Rich Girl comes over the Bluetooth.

The kettle whistles. I go into the kitchen and pour four scoops into the press, a little much considering that I’m only making a half-press. Coffee for one. A fly takes off from the counter as I am reaching for the kettle. It probably came in through the open windows last night. I bet it could smell that cat crap from miles away.

Rich Girl comes over the Bluetooth. What the Hell. I lie down in the bed while the coffee steeps. Anything to heal this crookneck. I’ve taken to testing my cripple walk in public. It feels right. I wonder what Musette will say when she sees it.