Bottled Milk

Act I - A Normal Workday

Prelude: Xander Noam

12:59 PM, June 27 of 2033. A beautiful day, the sun shines with a certain royalty. With the sun rising from where the sky meets the earth, the beams of light grace a dark-red building with pigeon shit on the rooftops, clean windows, people arguing in the distance and a sense of forgotten dreams as the smog from early morning's arrival meets its comeuppance from the afternoon's mood that which permeates in the hearts and minds of teenagers and young adults alike.

Xander Noam is lying down on his bed, all peripherals such as his authentic French Rolex and gold teeth still on his person. A common trait in rich folks like him, only muddled and fogged up by the fact that he wears a plain, brandless gray shirt, black pants, and Goldust boots with black socks from Abercrombie and Fitch.

*brring brring* *brring brring*

His alarm goes off on his phone set to the vintage alarm preset. His alarm goes off at his rich-person apartment with a minimalistic sense of architecture, his walls are white with local and classic modern art infecting the walls as well as architecture that would only come from a man with a 50's sense of decor. His bed, a bare, boring gray color, only spiced up with the oak frame and dark gray pillows made from Italian fabric, is sat next to the very corner of his one-room apartment. His window, in a 60's frame that screams a 'the American dream died out with John Lennon' screech, softly exemplifies the light from the dying sun, that which should wake him up. Clothes from nights before, and nights before nights before scatter themselves on the floor, a problem for the future him.

Xander: Ugh, what time is it?

Xander finally wakes up from his bed, partially because of his loud alarm but almost entirely because of the window's sunlight shining on his eyes, a trick he frequently uses when he has to wake up.

Xander: Hmm?

Xander grabs his phone.

Xander: Huh? It's already 1 PM? Ugh... gotta wake up. Otherwise the dancers will be pissed.

Xander goes through his day-to-day routine. He eats his usual breakfast: a bowl of berries, Kellogg's Corn Flakes, mixed with granola nuts, bananas and a side of yogurt. On his gray, marble countertop just next to his bed, where the kitchen is while, he eats his meal with his phone in hand checking his email. Rich people stuff, more or less. It's 1:10 PM.

Xander: Cool, my bills I have to pay are settled, and my bank account has collected $70,000, and I've paid my dancers their monthly $1,750 bi-weekly.

He goes through his mail some more, but finds nothing interesting.

Xander: Jokes.com sent an email. 'What do you call a condiment that has been made into an emoji? LMAOnaise'. Ok? And Oprah Winfrey just released a book review of David Foster Wallace's 'This Is Ketchup: The Sequel to This Is Water'. Oh, Denmark's biggest pastry company 'Hocken' recalled 12 million dollars worth of danishes due to complaints of food poisoni– Y-you know what, I should just get to work. Yeah, fuck this.

After showering, working out on the exercise bike and treadmill to the tune of 'She's a Maniac' on repeat, he gets ready for work. It's 1:45 PM, and finds himself torn between 2 of his usual work outfits.

Xander: Hmm. Which one should I pick? A gray 3-piece suit with a hat, brown shoes with gray socks and a cane? Or a purple tuxedo with purple shoes with purple socks, a fox fur coat and a cane? You know what, I'm feeling the gray suit.

He initially decides on the gray suit by Versace, a hat by Bowlers and Son, an eagle cane by Alexander McQueen, leather brown shoes by Gucci with Gucci socks, complete with Calvin Klein cologne.