Three AM. Three hours ante meridiem. When have I last woken up at a different time? Can my memory span so far? It was three in the morning when I woke up yesterday and it will be three in the morning when I awaken tomorrow.
I suppose three AM is as good a time as any.
As I scan over each product on the table before me, I contemplate my life decisions as I do each day. All those years of schooling. All those late nights studying the proper look, smell and taste of anything imaginable. It was delicious and exhausting.
"Do you have my special order?"
"Yes, yes, of course." He scurried along and pulled a burlap sack onto the table. Anything else?"
"No, that's all, thanks."
A common economic exchange takes place as it always does in this location each and every morning. He doesn't care about the food, he gives it to me. The money is not mine, I give it over to him. It's perfect. It's routine. It works.
I get into my car: an overused, faded shell of its former self. I relate to it well. When I run the ignition I look at the clock. Just an hour passed. Right on schedule.
The drive is two minutes short of twenty featuring three stop lights, two four-way intersections and a stop sign I always seem to forget about. The house is the only one of its kind. It has a roof with an extreme angle, a circular driveway (one that only an ultra rich prick would seem to build), and a key-lock garage door. From the garage to the door, the day's groceries in my arms, seven minutes. The food is taken out of the bags and properly stored, save the breakfast supplies, five minutes. From my illusion of a cozy bed to a knife in my hand, holding an onion waiting to be fabricated, one and a half hours approximately. If not, I wait until it is one and a half hours exactly. The blade poised over the flower of the onion, my eyes on the spine of my knife, glancing to the clock every so often. Yes, for four years my everyday has been exactly this. But today is different.
Today, I woke with a different agenda. Yesterday I created a plan to rid my life of the dreadful three am. Tomorrow, 3 a.m. will cease to exist.
Tonight, my boss will be dead. And at 3 in the morning, I will sleep soundly, 3 hundred miles away, never to see the dreaded 3 am ever again.
Hello all my lovely readers! So, I've just now started this story, really excited about it because I get to write quite a bit about food since this story will be mainly about food (in case you didn't get that already). I left the little prologue vague because I don't want you to focus on the character right now. I want you to think of the market place as the colors of the early morning blush out of the night sky. I want you to think of the stands of beautiful fruits and vegetables ready for a chef to pick and prepare at a nearby restaurant. I want you to think about what a miracle food is. Oh, and I threw in the imminent death plot for those in the back who may be falling asleep ;) Worry not my lovelies, the story will unfold before your very eyes. Cheers!