He woke late in the morning, or early in the afternoon if you prefer it that way, some people do, i find. Only because late in the morning sounds worse, it makes the person sound lazy. Put the word "early" in front of anything and someone thinks, wow, he has incentive... or she, for that matter but as it turns out in this case it is a he and no, he doesn't have incentive.

Maybe it was because he didn't find meaning in every word like most others. He didn't tag each word with emotions, namely, he though emotions were redundant. For him, it was anything but hear the voice that told other how one should act, reacte and impose on others. It wasn't because he was currently unemployed or he didnt "work" it was because he had a habit of alienating himself from ever single person that occasionally stumbled into his life. Don't get this wrong, he loved love, in every sense of the word, be it sentimentally, affinetly or just plainly, the way a child loves a pretty butterfly that lands on his finger.

More back to the point, he woke up, sniffled once, maybe twice, rubbed his nose with the backside of his hand, recoiled slightly from a pugnant smell that had entered the room. Lately there was a building in the process of being built, or "in construction" if you will, next door and the workers ate the most god awful smelling piles of shit that he had ever smelt. It was a somewhat curry-ish smell, combined with soy and a definate hint of pidegeon droppings, or so he thought. It wasn't just the normal kind of pidgeon droppings either, it was the kind that's so intensified in smell that the flies themselves vomit before they land. See that's really defining because flies usually vomit when they land, quite promptly really.

Either way he was just thinking of what an awful smell it was when he noticed something. His toaster was gone, it was a rather odd thing to experience. Normally one would think "where the fuck did my toaster go?" but our character, still not completely awake said alloud "Someone must have been hungry, poor chap".

It wasn't that he was british that he said "chap" in fact he was polish/dutch. It was because he had a nasty habit of watching saturday evening mysteries and today happened to be a sunday. He must have dreamt about the mystery because it was the very first thing that came to his mouth as he noticed the missing toaster.

Now, naturally one would go ahead and assume "what kind of retard has a toaster in the bedroom?" but i believe, quite strongly, really, that i am capable of convincing you that he is not a retard and that there is a perfectly logical explanation for this admittedly strange phenomenon. You see, Sven, that's his name by the way, he's had it since he was a kid, had a habit of eating toast each night before bed. It wasn't because he was hungry, it was because, so he though, it provolked dreams and Sven was really very much of a dreamer, if you're care to know.

So, Sven woke up, sniffled three times, I'm quite sure of that now, recoiled at the stench, then walked limpingly and half nakedly to his kitchen.

In his kitchen the first thing he noticed was the toaster. It stood out plainly against the vibrant green walls of his oven side. He shifter his position, putting more weight onto his left foot, it seemed to him his left foor was slightly better balanced than his right, which he found odd seeing as how he was right handed. He was just thinking "why the helllll would the toaster be out here" when a quick movement got caught in his left peripheral. Sven turned his head and was please, if not slightly surprised to see a girl standing behind him, or in front, i should say, seeing as how he turned instead of looking in the micro-wave reflection. If he had looked in the micro-wave reflection then the girl would have, of course, been behind him. The girl herself was really quite a beautifull girl, she had olive-ish sking with bright hazel eyes and a nice, firm, brown hairing. She stood -with her weight on her left foot also, so that they were really quite lopsided- in front of him in only her undergarments, which seemed to be a new looking pair, hinting that maybe she had just changed. Now, naturally, as any guy would, Sven wondered, "if she just changed, why didn't she actually dress herself?" (that was soon understood by the lipstick stains on his neck). The second though was the following "who is this sexy bitch and how did she come to be in my flat". He said the latter out loud... with a british accent.

The girl laughed and walked up, brushing her chest against him and gave him a flattering kiss, just on the lips.

Sven woke up, sniffled once, maybe twice, i can't be certain and sat up in his bed. He recoiled quickly as a smell wafted into the room, but he was used to it.

He walked slowly to his television, he wasn't tired and today happened to be a sunday. The final for the womens Australian Open was on, Ivanovic vs. Sharapova. "Ohhhhhh my god, they're so hot, fucking hottest final ever". He was just fantasizing about what an amazingly memorable event it would be if the two players just stripped and had sex instead of playing tennis -and getting rather hot under the collar- when the telephone rang.

It wasn't a pleasant ring, it was more of an annoying, whining sound that would make any given person want to die instantly upon hearing the sound. Sven didn't really mind it all that much, it usually just made him want to pick it up quicker, which apparently, people like. The trouble came when he was expecting a call from someone he didn't like and had to let it ring out. Like that old Malacey guy from Connecticut. god Sven hated him, he had this annoying voice that pretty much equaled the whining of the telephone ring. Honestly, when, if ever, he picked up a call fom Malacey it damn near ruined his entire life. The other two times he considered getting a new phone were when he was in the bath, and at night in bed. He even got in the habit of unplugging the phone line, but only on weekdays, he liked to sleep in on weekends and he didn't want to miss important calls, besides, the phone's right beside his bed. Incidentally, this was the first call of the day and it came at 11:37, a number Sven quite enjoyed reciting alloud.

Sven rushed to the phone, not a klutzy rush like you might have imagined from hearing this tiny bit about him, but and elegant, tasteful rush, practiced hundreds of times upon the arrival of, well, hundreds of phone calls. He picked up the phone as quickly as anyone could imagine picking up a phone.

"Hello?"
"Hello"
"Ummm, may i ask who's calling" He said this quickly, it almost sounded like he's got an accent, unfortunately, he doens't
"This is Kev"
"Oh, yeah, ummm hey man, what's going on?
"Well... what you got planned for tday?
"Oh, i'm actually gonna watch the, uh the, tennis final" If you were observing this conversation you might think it was a bit awkward but, in fact, no yeah, actually it was. Sven had recently told Kevin that he had nothing to do on weekends and here Kevin was trying to do something with him and Sven straight up rejected him.
As i said, Sven had a nasty habit of alienating himself a tad.
"Oh, well ok, if you change you mind just give me a call, you've got my cell right just gimme a call?"
"Why would i have you cell, you never even lent me your cell, i never even seen your cell"
"No man, you've got my number?"
"Oh, uh yeah, yeah i do, and yeah i'll do that"
"Aight man, peace"
"Have a nice day." Sven hung up the phone. As it turns out he didn't even have Kevs number, and he had no intention what-so-ever of calling him. And why the FUCK did he say "have a nice day", what kind of idiot says "have a nice day" when you could much more easily say "see ya". All these thoughts raced through Sven's mind when suddenly, the shifted the race slightly and they all fell off course.

See, Sven, although only 20, had a much more "adult" outlook on life. He realized that society had set nametags and stereotypes and prices and colors on everything, yet what he didnt understand was why? Why do jocks always act like jocks? Why do CEO's feel the need to control everything within arms reach, including shit that's not theirs like human life? Why do people pay top dollar for something that won't even look good in about two and a quarter years? Are colors even really existant?

The last of these thoughts was raised from his partial buddhist belief that nothing if physical and that life as we know it exists solely in our minds.

Sven wasn't religious, is any way what-so-ever, he didn't understand how people could spend their whole life believing in something, dedicating their lives for it, giving their lives for it, when there was absolutely zero proof that any of it even existed. In fact, there is proof against it. A well noted point raised by one of Svens good childhood/ adulthood friends who was like mad into science. Sven just liked thought provolking questions. Though provolking questions broaden the mind and, ultimately, seperate use from the stereotyped, which, Sven wanted to do quite badly.

Anyways, back to the point. Sven ate an apple. Not an orange, he didn't like oranges. Sven liked knowledge and that apple that adam ate in eden, that was pure knowledge... not that he was religious of course.

As he was eating his apple he heard a scream, not a pleasureful one, but a scream of surprise. He opened the door of his apartment and found himself face to back with a big chubby black guy. He closed the door. Just his neighbours boyfriend... again. His neighbour was hot, but she was much older than him, probably almost thirty, and she'd always drag these big, hulking guys into her apartment. i Swear, you could hear them going at it all night. Sally's really ht and Sven always tried to get her over for a drink. Once she agreed but then she realized at the last minute her aunt died or some shit, she had to call it off. Sven was stuck having a cold shower.

So here's Sven, sitting on his sofa, eating an apple and thinking about his sexy neighbour who was probably getting ploughed right now, waiting for the tennis match to start, ignoring Kevin's invitation...when he receives his next call.

The phone rings, an annoying ring if you'd like to know. Once again he finds himself wondering "when am i going to get a new phone?"

He does his little run over to the phone, picks it up and...

Sven woke up, he sniffled four times, i'm nearly positive and got in the shower. He was the kind of guy that had to have the water just a little bit too hot to tolerate standing up, but when you sit down the water has time to cool just enough before it reaches you and it's the perfect temperature. The sit down in the shower type, an odd type, yes, and looking at him you wouldn't guess that he sits down in showers. He never sings though. Once in a while you might hear him recite palindromes.

When he stepped out of the shower he felt a cool breeze on his scalp. Odd? Very! He didn't have a window in his bathroom, it can be expected in a smallish flat. He ran his fingers through his hair, only to realize that he forgot to rinse the shampoo out of it. He liked to use tea tree shampoo, his hairstylest recommended it to him and so he got it. He never understood hair cuts. "You go in, and you're supposed to develop this very deep bond with you stylest nowadays. All she's doing is cutting my hair and she's asking my what i'm doing after high school? i Mean, what the hell do you care what i'm doing after high school? She's like ten years older than me and shes telling me about her boyfriend she just dumped." Sven never really understood the purpose of small talk. There are two types of people: firstly, three are the people who can sit next to a friend on a bus and not say a word and still feel comfortable that they're friends. Then the other group, who feel the need to blather on about nothing of remote interest until ever single person in the facinity is soached to the bone in useless word vomit. Disgusting metaphor i know, but i found it quite suiting. However, Svens problem came not only from his inability to converse on a low meaning level but also his inability to differentiate between small talk and somebody actually trying to get to know him... You see, Sven had an awful habit of alienating himself without even realizing it.

Sven hopped back in the shower and i don't mean that litterally, some people take it litterally when you say "they hopped in" but do you actually believe someone would hop into a shower? They could seriously hurt themselves. Come on, think about it. OK now... So Sven brought his body quickly from outside to inside the shower and rinsed out the shampoo. Unfortunately, tea tree shampoo is the kind that when it gets in your eyes is stings like a mother fucker, that's what happened to Sven and he got pissed right the hell off. Started going on a rant about how shampoo manufacturers screw you at every possible situation that could potentially arise with the product

Over the span of one year Sven had grown more and more weary of corporate gimmicks, the leopard trap, the false advertising, you name it. But who the hell cares about what he learnt in economics. It's time we got back to the story. Because that really is the crux of this writing.

Sven woke up. Scratched his nose and though silently to himself "i'm a damn sexy demon". Maybe it was those 30 push ups he'd been cranking out every other thursday or maybe just the overall lack of fatty foods in his diet but his physique was turning more lean and strong every day, or so he thought, correctly if you must know. He got out of bed, took the toaster out from underneath it and took it into the kitchen. It was monday morning and because he was currently in the process of finding a new job, sorry, career, he had nothing much to do. He checked his message machine, he did every morning, it was utterly pointless seeing as how any given phone call would wake him up instantly and make him wish he were dead.

Sven had quit his job as an office supplies salesman only about 83 hours ago, i say about 83 because i'm not totally certain about that fact, it may well have been 82, or 79 or maybe even 90 but it can safely be said, he quit his job a couple days back. Office supplies sales is really one of the worst businesses to be in, it's quite depressing if you want to know the truth.

Sven wasn't the kind of guy who go depressed but when he found himself sniffing more glue than he was selling he figured he must have gone drastically wrong somewhere.

Promptly, he payed off his debts with his savings account and decided to restart.

Sven realized that the key to life is not so much being able to keep everything together forever and ever in a nice, tidy pile until you wither slowly away, but more to be able to recognize when you need to just say "you know what, fuck it! i Need out!" That's really a very deep and important event in one's life; the recognition, and Sven was lucky he realized it early enough that there was still time to eascape before society imposed on him it's ruthlessness. And believe me, you do not want to experience it's ruthlessness first hand... or second hand for that matter...

So, as i was saying, Sven quit his job, to restart. The problem was he was left empty headed. Absolutely no idea what to do. He had fucked it and now an entirely different "it" was fucking him.

He decided to watch the Australian Open, womens final. Which as you may already know, was the hottest event in the history of anything ever!

Now, i realize i have been narrating this in a highly analytical and somewhat philosophical nature but i wish to make it clear that although i did describe our character to the best of my ability, i did leave out some key points. Let them be known...

1. The girl in his dream is named Katya, he slept with her for about 2 weeks in mid October
2. It is now December
3. He is not depressed but he is very alone
4. People love him that he does not love back, at least not sentimentally
5. He has hazel eyes and dirty blonde hair
6. He is scared of the hourglass that is his life
7. A girl loves him but he does not know
8. He did, in fact, thouroughly enjoy the womens final

Sven woke up, put the revolver to his head, shot himself.

Sven woke up, heard a cat meow from the room upstairs fell back asleep.

Sven woke up, looked out the window, a sunny day.

Sven woke up, leaned over to Katya, kissed her, she smiled lovingly and he smiled back. There was no quilt cover.

Sven woke up, brushed his teeth and went to work. He took the sky train. He liked the ride, he found the speed exilerating. He arrived at his office, wrote a story, it began like this...

He woke late in the morning, or early in the afternoon if you prefer it that way, some people do, i find. Only because late in the morning sounds worse, it makes the person sound lazy. Put the word "early" in front of anything and someone thinks, wow, he has incentive... or she, for that matter but as it turns out in this case it is a he and no, he doesn't have incentive.

His name is Sven, a nice guy, really, but far too distant. He's a writer and he's very alone. You should meet him but i should warn you... he doesn't like small talk.

So here he was, at work, writing some shitty story about god knows what, actually you know what... maybe... if you're bright enough, i'm not sure, sorry, i won't judge if you're not.