A little time passed before Space remitted to unnecessary nail biting. Then there was sweating and racing thoughts, characterized as panic. It was one of the oldest cases of mental health you could get. He saw a therapist, and a quack.  It was all anxiety. A brain pattern removed from its natural balance, corrupted by negative stressors like smoking and worrying. 

He was up, awake, and finished his bath. He took his towel and dried up and down. Then, he wrapped the towel around him and tied it on his waist. Next he got his daily grooming tools and went to work on his shaggy head, also trimming his beard and everything. Finally, he took a squat and cleaned up behind himself. He had not prepared what to wear.

He went to his closet. There were electric army style pants, regular camouflage, old shirts ands new shirts that were a little cool for him; but he was an old inmate who likes designer bandannas. Nevertheless, he grabbed the neon and gray pants and a silver shirt that looked shiny. Next, it was his thick socks and the eco friendly underwear. He dressed himself.

The morning was growing old. Space had consumed an extra anti-anxiety med and he was in the mood to communicate because he could not miss while he was doped up. So, as it does go along with the undermined military, he wrapped a leather holster around his chest and inserted a small, non-lethal pulse type sidearm sixty percent declined from his shoulder to his chest for utilization time, or the time it would take Space to pull it out of its pocket. The man was fresh, a little bit dopey, and he wanted to go to the cafeteria hall.

He made sure that everything was OK. It looked neat, and of course he had some extra biscuits. With that said he performed a zero turn and headed down the way to an early lunch.

When he walked by some engineer man he was happily invited to share a moment. They talked only a minute, but the engineer said Space looked charming and jokingly said they should see who screwed the best looking girls. At the end, they shared laughter and parted away to carry on. Another guy looked like he was engaging to talk because he was staring, but Space sped up and avoided the guy because he was from Security. They weren’t all that bad, but several of them Space worked with were simply put, assholes.

Soon, Space entered the chow hall. He was greeted by someone with a menu and a complimentary orange. He thanked the hostess, and went to a table where he sits down and ripped open the orange and swim with it, recalling the oranges was the best fruit. A waitress walked up to his table, and they introduced themselves to one another, and then he requested a chicken crepe with vanilla bean flavored mix. Before he let the woman go, after she wrote his order he handed her his debit card and moved her away with a smile.

She brought his money issuance card back, and he adjusted his sidearm before he said thank you. She had complimented him on his big gun; however it was a little too light. She smiled again when she returned to him and set down his order. He thanked her...

He looked around, feeling relaxed and to a high degree compared to his same alertness. He let his lunch cool.