Empty of the Chinese takeout, of the pizza, drained of the fries and burgers, they stack up from the floor to ceiling. Spill out from the table and pile in heaps on the floor. I've got to wade through a sea of wrappers just to make it to the couch. I ended up in a dump with them. Tossed away. My parents haven't spoken to me in years. I can't even tell you why, honestly.
My morning routine never changes. Get up and fry a dozen eggs in my fire hazard of a kitchen, stop at a biscuit place and pick up my usual order. I've got them thinking the six combo meals are for me and my coworkers. They don't even make to the parking lot. Lunch, I wolf down two subs. Lunch is the worst, not long enough to go get something and come back. Though sometimes I deal with the bullshit from the floor manager and take my time. Then head home for a dinner that takes all night to finish. Sometimes I start at six and don't stop until midnight. Most of my paycheck goes to my stomach.
That was my every day up until I met Audry.
