A Healthy Breakfast

[Applesintime]

((Michael Goldstein: Pregame Start))

Left. Right. Left. Right.

Inhale and take in the still morning air, flavoured by freshly mown grass and the tiniest hint of chill in the air.

Normally Michael would be bemoaning the still air, hoping for a breeze to fan his sweating body as he ran through the sleepy suburb, but it was a pleasant temperature for a change. It was still winter, even if Las Vegas didn’t really get much of one. He’d always wondered what it was like, throwing snowballs at one another and building a snowman. It was something he’d always longed for as a kid, some freak weather forecast that gave them enough snow to enjoy. They got a little a couple of years ago, but it was nothing like his dreams.

David actually had snow! He’d sent a couple of pictures of himself and a couple guys from his unit making snow angels on the tarmac before it got cleared so people could drive around or move the equipment. He sounded like a little kid again, and it made Michael happy. It brought back fond memories of watching whatever his big brother did like it was the most interesting thing in the world, cheering whenever he hit a home run in baseball or getting mad at him when David beat him in MLB. Simpler times where home didn’t feel a little hostile.

His watch beeped, but Michael ignored it. His parents knew he liked to go running in the early morning, so if they wanted to talk to him they had to wait. This was like a pressure valve for stress. If things got too bad, he could always run away from them (and then come back later, obviously. Just a funny way to word it.)

Kind of why he was out here today, actually. His dad had called up one of his friends and was talking about stuff when he made a couple of snide remarks, about how he was proud of David for following his dreams while pointedly ignoring how he was doing the same.

It was the little things like that. They’d gotten past being snappy at each other, but there was still the sense of hostility in the air, this unease that could be cut with a knife whenever they interacted. Michael had learned that making a big deal out of it would just be used against him, brought up later to demonstrate how immature he was or something, so he bit his tongue. It was more productive to just get his frustrations out another way. Feet against the tarmac, bat hitting ball, even bitching about it to the old timers at the home.

His watch beeped at him again.

“Ugh, what the hell is it-” Michael grumped, slowing down and leaning against a lamppost as he checked what it was. It wasn’t a text like he was expecting. Instead, his fitness tracker was telling him he’d hit his goal for the day. Normally what he did was get three-fourths done and then get the other quarter done on the walk home to shower, but he must have just been lost in his head. Well, it didn’t hurt to get a little extra done. He could just go easy the rest of the day.

Or hmmm.

There was a McDonalds nearby.

And Michael did enjoy a sausage McMuffin.

And he hadn’t had breakfast.

---

Michael could never get used to the self-serve kiosks. There was always something wrong with them. The receipt didn’t print because there was no paper, there was some dead space on the screen or dead pixels, they were coated in spit and grease and who knows what else. So if there wasn’t much of a queue, he’d go over to the counter that still did orders and order face-to-face. Maybe there was more chance of an error, a little bit longer of a wait, but it just felt more natural to tell someone your order rather than tap on a machine.

This time, there wasn’t anyone at that counter. Hopefully they hadn't started phasing that out. Maybe they were just short-staffed, but the result was that he had to order on a machine that looked like it’d been through a food war and of course it didn’t have any paper, so he had to memorise the number that flashed on the screen. Thirty-nine. Thirty-nine. Thirty-nine. It was so much easier when you actually had a damn receipt.

Hands in his pockets, repeating thirty-nine over and over again in his head, Michael sauntered over to the queue of people also waiting for their food. This was a pretty regular haunt for the kids of Meadowbrook, so maybe he'd run into someone he knew but he also needed to remember that number otherwise he’d just wasted seven bucks. So, hopefully this would be an in-and-out thing.

Thirty-nine.

[Cicada]

Two clients, one down in Silver Springs, one deeper into the city closer to the Strip. The Car Doctors didn't really do mobile services on demand but it was possible to book one of them to drop by the house or wherever for a bit extra. She was really proud of herself. The jobs on the road were all her, no supervision, and whenever Mom and Dad gave her the thumbs up to take them for the day... she'd almost cried the first few times. She was, like, good enough. Really becoming a pro in her own right.

Since the first client wasn't until close to noon she was actually hitting up the gyms at school first. Cardio plus back and core. Baseball season was days away and there were new routines to practice. She wasn't exactly stressing, but a lot of the other girls on cheer were stressing more than enough to make up for it. She'd make sure she was in top form by the time the first games started!

Thus she was: jogging pants, double sports bra-ed up, black cotton long sleeve button up with enough oilcoolantantifreezedifferentialbrakefluid stains and splatters to be hung up in a modern art museum, bit-too-large black denim jacket because it was chilly. A perfect combo of work out then work for money clothes. She normally didn't really wear hats but she'd seen one of Dad's lying out on the couch and had decided to yoink it for the day. Store colors, red and gray, Car Doctors in black print, the store's cartoony car logo that was actually a 1997 Ford Tarus LX if you looked at the shape of the radiator grille.

The car Mom had been driving when she'd first met Dad.

Her hair looked weird all exploding out of her hat. She was sure Joanne or Sylvie or Vivian or anyone else would have told her to give up on it, especially Joanne in an especially cuss-y way.

---

[Clarissa Shoemaker, Pregame Thread 3]

Clarissa entered the Meadowbook McDonald's- 12 Honeydew Blvd, Meadowbrook 89531- with a casual and intentful stride for the pickup window.

She had the app because McDonald's was one of the only places outside of home and the school cafeteria on spicy chicken sandwich day that she was willing to eat at without a friend making her do it. Normally her breakfast was her daily grilled cheeses but Mom and Dad had been sleeping in and rather than making it herself Clarissa had been in a rare mood for the two egg McMuffin three hash brown that was always her order when she happened to want McDonalds at breakfast time.

Thirty-one was already up to order. Clarissa softly hummed Chappell Roan to herself as she picked up the bag.

Out of the corner of her eye, a familiar face. She turned. Paused for a moment as she matched face to name to memories. Clarissa the dumb faced horse, blinking a single time vacantly, and then...

"Michael, hey!" It wasn't a large store so she only said it loud enough to be heard as she breezed by the others in the queue to his position. Like many others in Red Rock, Michael G was friend shaped. He was on baseball, so, she was literally going to work out that day because of him indirectly. By default as one of her beloved baseball boys he was a designated Hot Guy, though like she'd never really felt butterflies the same way she had for Claude or Johnny. He was a very cool dude. Gave back to his community, which, <3.

"A good morning to you, my good sir." Yes she was talking like an idiot on purpose. Other people did it too! She facetiously curtsied with her non-existent skirt as she fell by him in line. "Morning run?"