The day began just like every Sunday morning had for the past year in apartment 42c. The mid-morning sun made its way through tall curtainless windows serving as a natural alarm clock. Parker emerged from beneath a sea of blankets, stretching her shoulders and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She gathered a mess of long, blonde waves into a knot on the top of her head, securing it with a ribbon. However, it didn’t take much more than the few steps to her bedroom door for various strands to make their way back into her face.

	Just like every Sunday morning for the past year in apartment 42c, her roommate Kevin – from whom she had kidnapped the oversized Guns N’ Roses tee-shirt she was currently wearing as a nightie - had planted himself on their couch, mindlessly picking away at one of his many guitars. She slinked past him and into the kitchen, acknowledging him with no more than a groggy glance. If he had learned anything from their years of friendship – it was that Parker was not a morning person. He knew to give her at least twenty minutes before uttering a single word directed at her. Half consciously, she pulled a couple mugs from the dishwasher and set a pot of coffee to brew.

	Just like every Sunday morning for the past year in apartment 42c, she poured two cups – one with cream and sugar for herself, and the other black with two sugars for Kevin. She made her way back to the couch – dragging her knee-high sock clad feet with every step. She sipped from her own cup and dangled Kevin’s as he took it with a gracious half-grin. Parker sat and leaned against the arm on the opposite end of the couch, propping her feet up on Kevin’s thighs and grabbing a book and a pair of glasses from the coffee table across from the pair. 

Just like every Sunday morning for the past year in apartment 42c, Parker sat flipping through some book she had probably read a million times while humming along to the various classics Kevin would fool around with. 
“Did you cash your paycheck yet?” She asked, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Simply dismissing the question and asking one of his own, Kevin replied “How’s what’s-his-name?” Parker rolled her eyes. Kevin had met Adam numerous times; she knew his indifference was more intended to get on her nerves than anything else. Instead of answering him, she moved to his side of the couch and shoved his arm, disrupting his previously seamless guitar solo. 

“Teach me somethin’,” changing the conversation once more, she pulled his guitar so that it was sitting half way on her lap and half way on his. It was these mundane Sunday morning rituals that had kept Kevin and Parker so close over the past year. Although their lives were becoming increasingly different, Sunday morning’s unwritten traditions persisted.