He moved slow. The floor boards beneath him creaked and cracked and bent under him. It was like this everyday, he knew when one would talk, and when the others would listen. At least that's what he imagined, the floor boards talking to each other back and forth as he shuffled around making eggs. Then making coffee, then finally some toast with butter. Everyday. He thought about tracking this with everything else he did.
"How many loaves of bread do you think?"
"How many tubs of butter?"
He creaked back to the coffee.
"How many cups of the good stuff." He thought about writing that down, he liked that for his journal.
"How many cups of the good stuff." He repeated out loud. Although no one could hear him, being 4am in the morning.
He liked his time. He thought of it as the yin to the rest of worlds yang. He thought he should write that down too.
He felt like in his morning moments that he was stretched out like slingshot and took aim at the day.
"Like carpe diem." He wrote that down too. In a small notebook he kept in his pocket.
Next to it a pen, and sometimes a pencil. When he was working, he'd also have a permanent marker, you never know when you need something like that.
"How many loaves of bread do you think?"
"How many tubs of butter?"
He creaked back to the coffee.
"How many cups of the good stuff." He thought about writing that down, he liked that for his journal.
"How many cups of the good stuff." He repeated out loud. Although no one could hear him, being 4am in the morning.
He liked his time. He thought of it as the yin to the rest of worlds yang. He thought he should write that down too.
He felt like in his morning moments that he was stretched out like slingshot and took aim at the day.
"Like carpe diem." He wrote that down too. In a small notebook he kept in his pocket.
Next to it a pen, and sometimes a pencil. When he was working, he'd also have a permanent marker, you never know when you need something like that.