Chapter Text
Still so dark because it’s
Still so early and the
Chipper little girlie at the front desk doesn't mind at all
These phony living rooms and
Fake plants are killing me
This bad coffee’s filling me with equal parts joy and rage
Put my makeup on and crack in half
I choke back a laugh
Find the camera with the red light
Another day, another dollar, another news report.
Every unholy hour, Jack would arise. He would grope and grab around his room. Then, he would be met with a small, handheld screen. Two blurry options would appear: "Snooze" or "Dismiss.”
He couldn't remember which one he pressed. Probably the button with the rounded orange rectangle. Like Pop Rocks and soda, phone updates and his muscle memory did not mix.
Jack would then do the usual: douse himself in the intense stream of hot water, devour his breakfast, wash his face with cold water, floss every crevice between his teeth, right before he gets them brushed...and end it all with a minty gargle and spit.
Sometimes, he would forget to make himself coffee. Oh well, he'd have it at the studio instead.
Which studio, one may ask? The name of it escaped him, but it was the one that ran the Good Morning Tucson segment. Once he buckled himself up, he smartly set his foot on the gas.
Jack had already memorized the path to go to work. So much so, that upon entry, the woman at the desk stated, "You're early."
“Is that a bad thing?”
It's a rhetorical question, but the woman wasn't having his dry sarcasm. To his (un)surprise, she beamed, "Well, earlier than usual!"
He could only smile and nod as thanks, “I try my best. Wait, no. I do my best. All for the network.”
Speaking of the network...would they ever fix the rooms? There's cracks here and there, faded paint jobs, and a broken air conditioner. Oh, and the plants. Of course they would come in plastic and felt. Nobody wanted to take care of them. Now, he would go on a rant, on how the plants are as fake as the people.
In hindsight, he realized that he's no different, either.
“Hey Janice, you know there’s any coffee yet?”
She smiled and nodded, "Yeah. The coffee machine's somewhere in the break room. I had some myself earlier."
One thing led to another, one answer led to a reply. When he was able to dismiss the conversation, he found himself in the break room. He was staring into the aperture, into the empty void of porcelain.
Jack then realized: she never said the coffee would be of quality. One poisonous sip and he had to dump it into the drain. He wanted so bad to dump the entire pitcher, too.
That was when he remembered something, from the talk he had this morning with Janice: Earlier, he had said that he'll see her later in the day. When his shift was over.
He never meant it as a promise.