Bernard Benson Browning woke up and panicked to reach his alarm clock, just like any other day. After crawling halfway across his room to the hiding place he put his alarm the night before- he won't be able to stay awake after shutting it off otherwise- he went about his normal morning routine. Stare blankly at the wall, get dressed, stare blankly at his breakfast, eat breakfast, et cetera, on and on like the past three weeks.

He trooped down the stairs of his third floor apartment, and headed off to the local Starbucks. Why? He couldn't make decent hot chocolate with his Keurig anymore- it broke from overuse. He took care of websites for many of the local businesses, and did their logos and newspaper ads, using it to sustain his dream of becoming a writer. If only he had a muse to really inspire him to actually write something.

He decided against the bus; he always woke up earlier than most, and always took the time to walk to wherever he needed to go. Big town, but it didn't take more than fifteen minutes to get from one side to the other on foot. 

And then the line of Starbucks. He sighed a little bit; he supposed taking the bus would've allowed him to be before the morning rush. Either way, he stood in line, and stood in line, and everyone ordered simple things.

And then the person in front of him, and he couldn't help himself, speaking out with an accompanying goofy smirk- [color=burlywood]"You're not gonna have it decaf either, are you? Or maybe add some nuts? Marshmallows? Oh, you could add some chocolate syrup."[/color]