Danger Kid

Chapter 4

I pause for a second to wonder to myself if there is anything better than bacon, eggs and hash browns. Right now I can't think of anything, which probably means that I am apathetic. Normally I just consider myself pathetic. Maybe I'm both. Is it morbid to psychoanalyze myself like this? Yes, my tendency towards cynical introspection concerns me, but probably not as much as it should.

I'm sitting, as usual, alone in a booth, just me and my breakfast. Sometimes I come to this place when my lonely apartment is too much, risky or not.

The bacon and eggs have been arranged to look like a smiley face. This would be a cute arrangement if one of the eggs hadn't popped. A smile is far less flattering when your left eye is gushing yellow ooze. I decide to put my pal out of his misery and plunge into him with a fork. Hmmm... Ok now I'm not so concerned. I can now think of things better than my breakfast, considering how the egg is undercooked, almost soggier than the coffee.

The restaurant is small and clean, yet it somehow still feels dingy. Maybe it's the off color paint, or maybe it's the dusty men in their drab clothing that sit a few tables to my right.

They come here every weekend, taking advantage of the free coffee refills that last until twelve. Joining together at their circular table, they shoot the poop about how great the good old days were, or how hard and terrible things used to be. Old people can never seem to agree with themselves about whether their youth was horrible or wonderful. This discrepancy used to annoy me until I realized they're all about to keel over in few years anyway, so one might as well humor them with a patient ear.

Almost in complete contrast, on the opposite side of the room from the old men sits a young man. His eyes are angry, as if he's been cheated more than not. He wears a dirty white t-shirt with a thick brown trench coat overtop. His attire is complimented by his hair, which is shaved close to his head. It gives him the "up to no good" look. I also notice he is alone, and I think it weird that he hasn't ordered. There's no line, and he's not with anyone. Maybe he's waiting for his gang of street buddies. I'll keep an eye on him.

Wait, I think I recognize him... He looks familiar. I can't place him, but something about him strikes a chord in my memories. I mull it over, but to no avail. Ugh, terrible, I know it's important, but my brain decides to tease me. Maybe it will come to me if I focus on something else.

I listen to the old men a bit as they bicker, and then turn my attention idly to the television. It's the news, which by the way, is horrible and generally useless. However, people watch it. It's the best source of information since the internet was banned decades ago. Now only the government can grant access to the internet, which is done so conservatively to higher ups. I used to be one of those.

I'm about to focus my attention back on breakfast, away from the news, not willing to sully my intelligence with the uninformative drivel. Right now it's speculating about several wanted criminals who had been delivered to police stations, bound and gagged, trapped in the trunks of their own cars, like neat little packages. The cars were then parked conveniently in the stations of the police to whose jurisdiction the criminals correlated.

Huh. Funny story I guess. The news has the naïve audacity to suggest that the captures were the work of a superhero. This is ridiculous. The government, military, private employers, and sometimes crime pay far too much for anyone to use their "super powers" as a vigilante. I am about to tune out but shockingly, something interesting pops up.

The news announces that Smith, my old boss, has been demoted. Apparently this is due to a conflict of interests between his work and personal life. Particularly, he had been devoting company resources to personal matters. That sounds about right. The guy has been having trouble prioritizing for the past year. I feel a twinge of... guilt?