The loud snoring blankets the room like a heavy quilt. Annie’s weight gain has caused her to snore even more than usual, waking Sam up earlier than needed. He sits up and looks at the clock, it’s 4 am. “What the hell,” he utters out loud as he runs his hand through his bleach blonde hair. He farts, fanning the air to dissipate the smell, he snickers. Wish I could have saved that for the project manager meeting.
He drags his 5 foot 9 chunky body out of bed and strides to the shower, scratching his hairy, pimpled ass. He walks by the large dresser along the wall looks in the mirror, pauses, and flexes. He kisses his left bicep and winks. He ignores the robust stomach protruding below his ribs.
Turning on the water, he begins to whistle, thinking of the things that need to be completed at work. He steps into the shower, chuckling about the chaos he caused the day prior. He picks up the bar of Irish Spring from the soap dish, caked with left over soap pieces, he starts laughing out loud. “Sending out those hoax emails to the office yesterday was friggin awesome. Sending the emails every minute for 3 hours was genius. I can’t believe the idiots can’t find how I altered the code. Taking down the system was, well that was an added treat.”
Finishing his four minute shower, after all this is drought season, he makes a mental list of tasks to complete for the day as he dries off. Walking toward the dresser, Sam catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror hanging cockeyed over the sink and notices a zit has ripened on his forehead. He stops, pops it, and wipes the white puss on the towel around his waist. He turns on the light in the bedroom opens the dresser drawer and pulls out a pair of graying fruit of the looms, a fluorescent green t-shirt and a pair of faded khaki cargo shorts. He walks out to the hall to get dressed as he doesn’t want to wake Annie. The last thing he wants to do is talk to her before going to work. The door squeaks as he closes it. Another thing for the “Landlord to do list.”
He walks down the dimly lit hall to the kitchen and heads toward the refrigerator. He yanks the door open and pushes the plastic 99 cent store containers around looking for something that could resemble breakfast.
Nothing. Not even a moldy pancake.
He decides to stop at Rachel’s and grab a bean and cheese burrito on his way to the office.
As he stands up, he notices dirty hand prints on the left inside of the refrigerator.
He shakes his head “Jesus Christ.”
He then looks around the kitchen…mud covered shoes , socks, bats, balls, clothes, all of it thrown around as if a tornado blew everything from the bedrooms to the kitchen.
“Annie needs to clean this place or get a job!”
He slams the refrigerator door shut and shakes his head in disgust.
He walks toward the front door, kicking toys, shoes, and clothes out of his way.
He slips on his Rainbow flip flops.
A gust of hot hair greats him like an old friend when he opens the door. The wind is reminding him the Santa Ana winds are blowing in.