Oh it burns.

It's the same thing everyday really. Nothing ever happens, not here. The stool is always four tiles away from the drain, and the day always starts with the fat lady's hollering. The stupid boy either isn't getting up or isn't getting dressed fast enough. I always park myself on my stool at 6.50 every morning. The noise upstairs is no longer noise. The sun is always just about to rise and the street takes on a mysterious hue of promising grey. On colder mornings there would be a gust. And it'd push at the awning, sometimes catching it from below, making it heave upwards for a brief moment, only to sink with a sigh the next. It's all very normal, nothing out of the ordinary... Not here.

At 6.52 the majestic beemer would roll by, the princess in the back seat is doing her hair. No, you wouldn't be able to see that through the tinted windows, but sometimes they have them wound down and my watchful eyes catch everything. At 7, you may be able to sense the town stir. But this only comes with practice, and keen ears. I'd pick up the newspaper just about now, a little reading to keep the mind active.