-It's the first day of August, year 2020-
Brendon is brushing his teeth. A perfectly normal action, sliding a toothbrush around his mouth. He does it every day. He has done it every day of his life and he knows how the procedure goes.
Brush, rinse, spit. Brush, rinse, spit, gargle, spit.
Very simple. Easy. Painless. It's like this every day, it has been like this every day and it's coming along fine with no interruptions until somewhere around rinse number 2 Brendon hears the ring of his doorbell.
So Brendon spits a bit early, with toothpaste still in his mouth and races down the stairs of his (newly-bought) house.
"Coming!" he calls, scrubbing his tongue on his palm to get the strong mint flavor out. He runs his hand through his messy curls, just in case it's paparazzi. He realizes he's wearing baggy sweatpants and an AC/DC too big T-shirt, and all right, his chances of looking presentable are fairly slim.
He opens the door and his heart about stops.
It's the pizza guy. Of course it's the pizza guy, with five boxes of large pizzas in his hand. "got yer pies for ya, mate," he says in his strong southern accent. "That'll be 39.99."
(Just kidding. it's Terra.)
