'Beep...beepbeep...BEEPBEEPBEEP! BEEPBEEPBEEP!' rang my alarm clock as the radio came on. "Good morning, St. Canard, you're tuned into Chanel 37, your favorite rock station! Here's something you may remember from the good old days~" the broadcaster announced as I yawned widely, wiping some dried drool off my bill. I rubbed my eyes and shuffled out to the kitchen in a tanktop and shorts, giving a half awake glance to the clock on the wall. It was six in the morning and I poured myself a fresh cup of Joe and carefully slumped down at the counter. About halfway done with my cup, I slowly shuffled to the bathroom to freshen up for my new job.
'Oh, man! I have looked better!' I thought as I stared at the barely awake thirty year old duck with bags under her hazel eyes and short, blonde bedhead. I looked like a zombie that's been brought back from the dead, killed, and then brought back again. Maybe my boss won't care? 'Shut up, Nellie! Of course they would! Now, straighten up!' I told myself, splashing some water on my face, and drying off with a spare towel. I brushed my hair down, and put on a black headband to keep my hair out of my face so I at least looked somewhat presentable. But I can't go to work in a tanktop and shorts! Now, let me see, where did I put my...here it is! I rummaged through my dresser, pulling out a brown sweater and a pair of jeans. 'Perfect! I'll go casual!' I thought, putting my sneakers on. I poured myself another cup of coffee in a portable mug and headed out the door of my apartment.
"Good morning," greeted a neighbor. "Morning, sir!" I replied as I locked the door and put my key in my pocket. I hurried downstairs to the lobby and out the door into the cold, autumn morning. The leaves crunched under my shoes as I swiftly walked with one hand in my pocket and my other hand wrapped around my hot, portable coffee mug. "Man, it's cold…" I said to myself, turning a corner. I know it's probably not that bad, but I'm kind of a weenie when it comes to being cold. "Morning, ma'am." greeted an officer. "Morning, officer," I replied politely as I went on my way. "Off to work?"
"Yeah,"
"Alright then, have a good day!" replied the officer as he returned to his post. "Thanks, you too!" I replied, going to the edge of the crosswalk. I had pressed the button to cross, when I was joined by this unusual figure. He looked a bit taller than I was, but he was covered from head to foot! He wore a large, tan trench coat, with a red scarf covering his bill, and yellow mittens on his hands with heavy black boots. His face, or what I could make out of his face, anyway, remained two beady blue eyes with what seemed to be a stray tuft of purple hair peaking out from under his hat. "Hey," I said, trying to be polite and make conversation. He seemed taken aback and shuffled awkwardly before replying. "Uh…hello," he said, looking down at his boots. "How're you?" I asked, trying to break the ice. "I'm alright, you?" He returned, "Oh, actually I'm heading to work right now," I replied. "Okay," he said, shuffling in place as he adjusted his many layers. "Uh, where do you work?" he asked. "The coffee shop not far from here," I replied. "Really? I'm heading there myself!" he said, lighting up, as if he wasn't used to friendly conversation.
The crosswalk flashed "walk" and I went ahead, joined by the stranger. "Uh, I'm Reginald Bushroot," he introduced with a slight stammer. "Bushroot? That's a funny name," I noticed. "I'm a uh, botanist." he replied timidly. "Really? That's cool! I dunno much about botany myself." I said. "All I do know about it, is it's got to do with plants. " I explained. "I love it!~" he seemed to smile under his scarf enthusiastically. "Uh, what's your name?" he asked me. "Thurston, Nellie Thurston" I replied. "Nellie…" he repeated, and looked at me with an odd expression. "You okay, man?" I asked him. "Huh? Oh, I-I'm fine," stammered Bushroot. We soon approached the coffee shop and I went behind the counter to take his order. "So, what'll it be? You want a coffee? Pastry?" I asked. "Actually, I need some coffee grounds," he replied.
"That's an unusual request," I said, getting out a bag of ground coffee. "What for?" I asked. "Oh, I need it for fertilizer," he explained. "You can do that?" I questioned. "Yes, it works quite well," replied Bushroot, taking a seat by the window. "So, you got friends?" I asked, pouring some coffee grounds into a separate bag. He looked down at his feet, and then at me, and then back down at his feet again. "No, not really..." he said hesitantly. "Really? That's a shame, man. You seem like a nice guy. " I reasoned, giving him the bag of coffee grounds. "Y-you think so?" He squeaked, seeming to blush under his scarf. "Yeah," I smiled. "Well, that'll be two dollars." I reminded. "Huh? Oh, yeah!" remembered Bushroot as he got some money out of his pocket. "Here you are,"
"Thanks," I replied. "Bye~" I waved as he left. I saw him glance back, and sheepishly adjust his scarf as he hurried away. 'What a strange guy…' I thought as customers started coming in from the morning rush.