Lexhood/ThreeDays

"Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock."

The clock kept ticking. It was 4:29AM on a Monday. Garfield Wiggins lay in his bed, tossing and turning. He never slept peacefully. Not since the day Stephanie walked out on him. Her visage haunted him in his dreams; and while awake, he constantly wondered how different things could have been had he made the right choices.

As the clock turned 4:30, it rang out in an ear-piercingly shrill alarm; a wicked clarion call, replacing the orderliness of the ticking with an agonizing din.

"BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRING"

Garfield sighed peacefully as he opened his eyes. He slammed his fist on the clock, halting the infernal alarm. One would assume that Garfield disliked the alarm; after all, it is such a grotesque sound. A vile, piercing cacophony of noise that would drive any man to madness. Yet to Garfield, such a sound was like music to him. A reflection of the disorder within his mind; after all, it was within such chaos and noise that Garfield felt most at peace. It was the silence that he did not like.

Garfield, dressed only in his finest boxer shorts, slid from his covers and shuffled over to his wardrobe, stepping over his curated assortments of magical curio, scientific knick-knacks, and unwashed clothing in the process. He picked a white shirt and khakis. While at home, Garfield prefers to dress in a more eclectic manner. The dress code at Noxcorp was one he followed begrudgingly.

He quietly stepped out of his bedroom, treading lightly so as not to disturb either of his roommates. He walked out of the apartment and down the stairs to the back of the restaurant, where he was greeted with the pleasant aroma of garlic, onion, and bacon. As he walked through the hallway, he passed the kitchen, where he saw Grigory Volkov preparing the first batch of pierogi. Volkov stood at an impressive 6'5". Even as the march of time began to slow him down, his presence was no less imposing. Volkov whistled a happy tune from the Soviet days as he stood over a hot skillet.

Garfield waved at Volkov. "Hey Volkov! You're up early today."

The large Russian man turned around to greet his friend. A warm smile appeared on his stony face as he waved back to Garfield.

"Good morning friend! These pierogi don't make themselves."

"They smell delicious."

Volkov raised an eyebrow at Garfield and pointed his spatula in his direction.

"You haven't eaten yet, have you?"

Garfield chuckled. "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"You're a scientist, friend! That big brain of yours needs fuel. Sit down at one of the tables. I'll get you a hearty plate of pierogi. Real food. Good for soul."

Garfield protested. "I'm flattered, but I have something important I'm working on. I need to go to-"

"Bah. Nonsense! You need food more than they need you. Wait just a minute. I'll serve you something fresh."

Garfield walked over to the front of the restaurant and took a seat at a booth next to the window. Garfield and Volkov were wide awake, but Towningdale was asleep. Dawn had begun to break through but had not yet reached the clouds. The streets were empty. Across the road was "Ragnar's Laundromat," a Dwarven-run business that undersold itself with such a mundane name. Where else could one enchant their white shirts so as not to stain? As Garfield stared wistfully at the laundromat exterior, he began to daydream.