Cafineen for the day

A short walk to the kitchen, not to far from where his feet first touched the ground. He looks up to the exposed cubbords, no doors to hide his food. He likes it that way, no wasted time opening and closing, just reaches for what calls his name and calls his stomach.

He reaches for a box of tea, dark and smooth and sighs at the work that has to be done to make something that could warm his not so warm sole. And he gets started; runs the water, brown then clears then brown then clear. The rust of life flows just as smooth as his thoughts this early in the morning. But it is not morning, it is only to him, a afternoon that somewhere else in the world someone is doing the same thing he is.

His tea is done, dark no milk or sugar, straight up very few people like it that way. It is something to think about when you drink it, he looks in his cup and decided that it is time to finish what he started. His tea is gone and his cup is placed in the sink, some caffeine to make the day livable, because later it wont be cafineen it will be some other liquid that makes him pass the time.