The door opened with a creak, and I carefully extracted the key from the lock, then carelessly threw the key onto the kitchen table. I sat down on my mattress, the only thing I owned that wasn't a total piece of crap. This is the life.... Then I laughed at myself. This way of living was hardly 'the life'. It was barely a life at all. And in the middle of it all was me. Thinking that laying down on a mattress in my loser apartment was the way to live. Some reality check this was.
Deciding I was hungry, I got up off my bed and looked in the fridge. What was there to eat? A jar of moldy pickles? No. Fish sauce? No. That stuff that sits in the back of the fridge rotting, but I never feel like throwing out, even though I'm sure it can breathe, and take car of itself? Definitely not. To the cabinets, then. Let's see what we have here.... Hamburger Helper. Pfft, like I ever had time to buy hamburger. Canned soup? Too lazy to cook it. I'd probably set the apartment complex on fire. I don't trust my stove, it needed to be replaced, but the landlord is lazy, just like me. It's a wonder this place hasn't been shut down yet.
That settles it. To the cafe.
The pleasant smell of waffles and coffee wafted around, as usual.
"Dahlin', yawr' heah' ev'ry nigh' an' ev'ry day. Don' 'ya evah' cook fawr' yah'self?" Marilyn, the waitress with a thick accent asked, a little rudely, if I do say so myself.
"Um, I don't really have the time." I frowned, a little embarrassed.
"Well that's alrigh', deah'. We'll cook fawr' yah'."
"Thanks, Marilyn. I'll take the usual."
As she walked off to go place my order, I looked around, casually sifting through all the wall decorations, that seemed to have been on the fading, beigy colored walls for as long as I could remember. It seemed like this place was my home away from home. My personal little sanctuary. Not for long though. As soon as I had started to relax, I saw Car-weasel walk in with a guy who looked near-ish to my age but shockingly like the weasel. They sat down, and I watched them, trying not to be obvious. Fortunately enough, they didn't seem to see me.
Marilyn placed a plate with a small pancake, a few eggs with pepper on them, and a large dish of fresh fruit on the table in front of me, followed by a smaller plate with three slices of crispy bacon. As I ate, I noticed Car-weasel and son never ordered anything, or even made an attempt at getting some sort of service. Why on earth would you go into a restaurant and not eat? Not that it matters. Like I care about the weasel's issues. Why would I even be thinking about stuff like that. I spend my whole day trying to avoid him, then during my time off am obsessing over why he's not ordering anything. This is so wrong. I need my own life.