Jared woke up this morning with a strange feeling that something was different. His alarm went off as usual, but instead of the normal buzzing, he heard a somewhat pathetic rendition of Stormy Monday. After a minute of sleep haze, he realized his little brother, Michael, must have been using his ipod to record himself practicing. He made a mental note to remind his brother that, while he appreciated his recent efforts to learn guitar, he’d love wake up to something other than a hung over college kid strumming an old, old, beat up, out of tune, half-broken, brandless rummage sale guitar.
He dragged himself out of bed and did all the usual things he did every morning. In fact they were so usual and boring that he opened a new toothbrush, although his old one was perfectly fine, just to break the monotony. Satisfied with the splash of red, he dressed in his usual gray business suit, shaved, gargled, fought with his contacts for a minute, grabbed his briefcase and left for the office.
It was 7:18. He thought of his little brother, who didn’t yet have a “grown up job,” sitting in his college apartment, killing time between his classes and recording on Jared’s ipod. Probably still sleeping.
“Must be nice,” Jared thought as he turned into the parking lot of Drake, McGuire, and Smith, where he’d worked as a legal aide since graduating from law school last year. Less than anxious to file yet another 230498234029834208943 papers, he considered splurging on a latte from the coffee shop across the street, but decided he’d save the three dollars; the red toothbrush was enough.
His cell phone rang, and then vibrated, and then rang and vibrated with text messages. He quickly silenced it and glanced around the room, waiting for one of the partners to come in with some glib remark about the “younger generation not wanting to pay their dues.”
There was no one so he glanced at the message, simultaneously annoyed and intrigued by what he read.