Peter Jackson woke with a start, as he usually did. He sat up, slightly slumped, his backbone showing through his wife beater. He headed to the kitchen, walking with a lack of self-purpose. Grinding his medium roast coffee beans, he cracked his short neck. After preparing the coffee in his ancient Mr. Coffee coffee maker, he proceeded to the restroom to take a piss. After peeing for an exceedingly long amount of time, he side stepped to his mirror and examined his constantly aging face. His blood shot eyes stood out from the wrinkles surrounding them, and he pat down his small matt of gray-brown hair. Peter put a pea-sized amount of toothpaste on his toothbrush and scrubbed his crooked teeth, covering his thin lips with frothy spit. He finished and walked slowly to his dresser, pulling out his oldest pair of Nike short shorts and matching track jacket. Slipping them over his sleeping garments, he walked back to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of watery coffee.

He opened one of his three cabinets and skimmed its contents. Chocolate Power Bars and Peanut Power Bars covered the surface of the shelf. Peter stood still for a moment, trying to decide which one to take. Peanut was the one, and he carried it and his coffee to the two seat table.

“I’ve been thinking of going to the gym,” he said to the empty space across from him.

Silence.

Peter chewed each bite of the Power Bar slowly, meticulously, chewing each bite thirteen times. He took one last gulp of coffee, and it poured out the sides of his cup, trickling down his pointed chin.

As he stood up to head for work, he closed his eyes and counted the steps as he walked to the front door. Twenty-two. Blindly, he groped for the door handle, finally grabbing hold and twisting. He opened his eyes and walked to his 1994 Toyota Minivan. Peter got in his car, and slipped his feet into the shoes waiting on the pedals. Backing out of his driveway, he watched Geoff Bernard, his neighbor across the street. Geoff was getting his newspaper. Peter watched him walk down the lawn, in boxers and a tee shirt. His tanned, toned arms, swayed by his sides. Geoff bent down, and Peter sat up taller in his chair to get a better look. He turned and drove away quickly, before he would have to change his pants.