[b]October 2, 2015
New York, NY
8:32AM[/b]

Roman groaned and rolled over on his bed, sinking into the comfort of the soft mattress, and drawing the warm blanket over his still-aching head. He knew he must’ve been dancing on the line of alcohol poisoning to be in this much pain the next day. That damn Cindy… This was her fault. He wouldn’t have had so much to drink if he hadn’t been so pissed off at her for ruining his chances with any of the girls at that bar. He almost wished she was still around so he could give her a piece of his mind.

“Ugh…” he moaned as a fresh wave of pain hit him. He was never getting out of bed again. Ever. Not even if New York City caught on fire and Superman came to put it out and started taking pictures with all the residents. Not even if…

His stomach let out a loud growl.

Well, that would do it.

Roman sat up slowly and twisted at the waist to let his legs hang over the side of his bed. It was annoying to have to move in small increments like that, but it was all he could manage with his killer hangover. He looked up at the mirror that hung from the door across from where he was sitting. He looked like a complete wreck. His black hair was disheveled, his face was pale, and his usually clear, green eyes were bloodshot. His body was covered in bruises from what he could only guess was a fight with someone at the bar—perhaps the bouncer?

He got up from the edge of the bed and meticulously put on a set of clean clothes—nothing fancy, just a long sleeved, black t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. After that, he went to the bathroom to fix up his ratty hair and brush his teeth. He used mouthwash as an extra measure to get rid of the alcohol on his breath. After all, he didn’t want to leave his apartment looking like a homeless drunk.

On his way out, Roman downed some Tylenol, threw on a leather jacket, and slid a pair of sunglasses over the bridge of his nose to aid in the nursing of his hangover. He would be damned before he let a headache keep him away from crispy bacon.

--

For efficiency’s sake, Roman walked to the nearest café, Morning Star, which was only two blocks from his apartment. He just wanted to be in and out. Full quick, and back home even quicker. The annoying little bell chimed when he opened the door to the restaurant, and a cheery hostess greeted him with an unholy amount of enthusiasm for the morning.

“Good morning, sir! Just one?” she asked in a bubbly voice.

“Yeah, just me,” Roman muttered. He rolled his eyes behind his darkly tinted sunglasses. Hostesses always asked how many would need seating, even when the answer was obvious. It was part of their job, and he knew that, but in his irritable state, he thought the question made her sound dumb. However, he chose not to pick a fight so early in the day and held his tongue.

The young woman led him to an empty booth, “A server will be with you shortly.”

Roman nodded and sat down. He opened up the menu on the table, passing the time by searching for a good looking breakfast plate as he waited for his server to arrive.