(If you not sure what S.S.B. is, go to the category and find out :P)
Before Gregory could nibble another Buttermilk Rusk, it was morning again. The fact that surprised him was not the rapid passing of the days. He had overslept this morning, given his morning schedule awaiting him, this was very serious indeed. Gregory had last done this when he was sixteen and had brought a stoner girl friend around for supper. That was a) a very long time ago and b) something in which sex took over and was more a problem than the oversleeping itself.
Something was wrong this morning. Gregory realized this when he fell off the bed, and didn’t feel the usual thump of his morning erection (slowing him down). Gregory went and took a shower to wash away his pornographic dreams. He liked to stand in the shower and watch the soap and bubbles spiral away into the plug hole. It was as if he was peeling away the skin of the previous day, and climbing into a new suit.
Gregory had a bathroom big enough to keep yourself clean, but far too small to keep tidy. He thought, anyway, that the first was the more important priority despite many intense many arguments with his mother (and the occasional girlfriend). So, while he watched his old ‘skin’ run down into the pipes and tiles, he thought about his good friend Johnson.
It was nothing hugely important that brought up the subject into his mind, he had just started to reminisce over the time he saw him at the park. Johnson had made an impression on Gregory since they had first met back in a Science class in High School. Thinking back to the pond, it struck him how Johnson was always so peaceful. It didn’t take much to do it either.
All you really had to do was throw him a patch of grass to sit on, and a furry little animal to run around. That made him content. He could be in the same spot for hours, and when you came back he’d be just as happy as when you left him there.
Gregory needed to build up his own sort of environment to achievement that level of enlightenment. This (understandably) involved a forest of cables, keys, lights, bleeps, and the drone of about five fans doing 8000 rpm. This didn’t seem odd to him either. He came to the conclusion that friends were sometimes more likable because they were so different. And, not to forget that so-
The phone rang. A sudden jolt leapt into Gregory’s body, and he tumbled out of the shower like a hairy ballerina. He grabbed a towel in the process, and that only real sound was made by his willy slapping his thighs like a wet fish…and the phone of course.