Good Day

"Oh, good mooooooooorning ugly!" Race pulled open his dark red curtains and looked out over the rainy Manhattan streets. He didn't necessarily dislike ugly weather, he was just telling it like it was. The clouds were a smudged pencil gray and had opened up on the pedestrians scurrying to their office or subway station to start the week. Race decided he wasn't dreading this morning, at least, not as much as everyone else. Even though the Monday after a long holiday weekend always seemed to be particularly grueling, Race wasn't having it. He pulled on his shirt and buttoned it up, looking in the mirror as he fixed his collar. A good day, that's what this was. He rolled his wrists around in his crisp cuffs as he shook out his golden curls. Medda from human resources had once told him that every day was a good day if you just decided it was. He cracked his neck and slid his hands into the deep pockets of his dark dress pants, and, deciding he looked respectable enough, slid across the floor in his black dress socks, skidding through the doorway of his bedroom as he grabbed his shoes off the ground.

A good day, he repeated to himself as he hopped into his kitchen, popping the shoe on one foot and then the other as he leaned against the counter. Let's think about it, he thought, opening a cabinet to grab a tumbler for his coffee, a great job, great friends, the holidays just around the corner, and he had just gotten HBO go, and what a great investment that was proving to be. He popped the lid off the tumbler and walked over to the coffee machine. Now, some may call him old fashioned, but Keurigs were wasteful, and it was just a lot easier to make one pot of coffee and just always have it there, in case he needed a pick-me-up when he got home. The first thing he did in the morning was to hop out of bed and start the coffee, then shower and get dressed. Another thing to be grateful for, Race thought as he poured, routine. A healthy one at that. How many people could say they had that, he asked himself, opening his fridge and grabbing his hazelnut creamer. Not a lot of people. He flipped off the lid and was disappointed by the few dribbles of white that splashed into his coffee.

"Grrrrr," Race growled to himself, tossing the empty bottle in the sink. "Hey Ale-no, excuse me, HEY GOOGLE," He corrected himself as he dumped an unidentified but still horrifying amount of sugar into his coffee. He'd recently parted ways with his Alexa, and since Jeff Bezos was as an asshole, he'd decided not to get a new one.

"How may I help you, Ra-aCecRACK?" The automated voice responded, causing Race to bend over in silent laughter. He'd somehow gave the machine his name wrong, but it was just soooooooo fucking funny to hear that clunky robot voice say Racecrack that he'd just left it that way.

"Yeah, oh my god, uh, please add creamer to my list, and uhhh," He opened the freezer and frowned, " ice cream, breakfast sandwiches and grapes I guess, to balance it all out."

"Creamer, ice cream, breakfast sandwiches, and grapes have all been added to your list." We're rollin', Race thought as he grabbed his coffee and snatched up his keys, wallet, and Juul from a clay olive dish on the counter that he'd gotten in the office white elephant last year.

"Thank you so very much, Google. I will order you around more when I get home, servant speaker" He opened his apartment door, patting his left pocket to make sure his phone was there.

"You are very welcome. Have a good day!" The voice called as he opened the door.

"Already decided I would, Bitch,"

"...okay then, Ra-aCecRACK."

Race clambered up the steps of the subway station, glancing down at his phone as he did. 8:34. Perfect, he thought, dashing across the crosswalk as the orange hand began to flash. He speed-walked down the sidewalk and up to a Jack in the Box. Plenty of time, plenty of ti-

Race's thoughts on timing were immediately cut short when a man walked past him through the door of the fast-food place. His breath hitched. He blinked and walked into the building, taking a sharp right to the restrooms and ripping open the door to the single-stall, locking it behind him. He slammed his back against the door and slid down it to the floor, his hands attempting to rub the small tears back into his eyes.