The Most Sinful Man in the World

M. Stanley Bubien

His alarm blared. Not a particularly annoying sound in and of itself, but the fact that it was designed to wake him made all the difference. He fumbled for the button. It clicked and he rolled over. Four minutes later, the blaring returned.

The shower felt good. Water worked a sort of magic for him, washing him awake. Sometimes, he'd just stand there, staring into the stream, letting it run off his face. On better days, he found himself humming a tune as he soaped down---often a favorite song, or something he heard the night before.

He sniffed the coffee. Fresh ground! One of his favorite scents in the world. It was funny how coffee never tasted as good as it smelled---he still enjoyed it, mind you---but it was just one of those perplexing things, a great mystery of life as it were.

The newspaper flapped as he gobbled down his eggs and crunched at his toast. Though not a particular problem for him, he still watched his cholesterol anyway, only allowing himself the pleasure of an omelette a few times per week.

Upon dropping his plate and mug into the dishwasher, he glanced at his watch. Early today. He smiled. With briefcase in one hand, and gym bag in the other, he elbowed the garage door opener, and slid into the front seat. The car started right away.

After letting it warm up briefly, he revved the engine, slipped into gear, and steered toward the burden and beauty of a new day.

Copyright ©1999 M. Stanley Bubien. All Rights Reserved.

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December, 1999 Issue #44

256 Words

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