Western Prioritaire

This morning started like any other morning in my life of late. I rose to the strong scent of ancient food filling the dumpster at the rear end of the Arab take-away that meets my bedroom window in a dirty, narrow alley. I think its meat, fuck I hope its meat, but I have only inspected the thing from 6 feet away with purple cheeks and runny eyes. Sitting up from my lumpy bed I stretch my body after an awkward rest. Locating my socks, I stumble through the doorway and head for coffee. I always need to be wearing my socks when drinking coffee, or doing anything else in my apartment that doesn't involve bed. The warm bamboo silk cloaks my ankles and toes and keeps my spirits warm and happy. I take a confident gulp of my steaming hot caffeine joy and immediately regret doing so as my tongue burns with fire and brimstone. Gazing above my mug, I contemplate throwing the coffee all over the wall. But I hate mess, or what I presume to be messy. I am also drinking from the left side of the mug. My theory is that, most people are right handed, so they pick up the mug with their right hand and drink from the right side. I hate germs, so I use my left hand and sip from the left side of the mug to enjoy hot drinks, even with my own mugs. I know, fucking insane. These rules I set for myself are the only ones I can seem to stick to, when real life rules come into place, I subconsciously try my hardest to not obey them. It's a wonder how I am currently in a relationship, with a real, walking and talking woman! Albeit a tedious and fading relationship. Two years I have been with Jessica, kind of. If you add up all the days, weeks and months we have spent time apart; our bond is probably around 56 days strong. Which is pretty fucking impressive for someone like me. Anyway, enough about my life, I got to get to work, I start at ten.