I got up this morning, took my shower, brushed my teeth, put my clothes on, and dashed out of my mother’s house before she could say good morning at 5:30 am. She wanted to talk to me, but I slipped out to the garage, where my car was parked because I didn’t want to be annoyed.

I drove along Jefferson Street towards the coffee shop, and an angry red Prius cut me off. Come on, Brother. I drive a Toyota, too. We should be family. But this person must’ve been a morning drunk because he or she was swerving in my lane, and a red light was ahead, and they zoomed right through that intersection. Go on ahead, Brother. Break the law. I’m waiting right here for it to turn green. I crawled closer to the crosswalk, and it turned green when it was activated by my movement.

I made it to the coffee shop by six a.m., the only one in there besides the workers.

“How can I help you?” the barista asked.

They hadn’t lined the breakfast sandwiches on display, so I got a little worried.

“Where’s the breakfast sandwich with the English muffin?” I asked.

“Sorry, sir,” he said, “but we don’t put them out for display anymore.”

“Oh, so you do have them.”

“Yes, we do.”

“I’ll have one of those and a cold brew. Thank you very much.”

He warmed it up, I paid my bill with Apple Pay, which I always use in case the Romanian mafia had infiltrated the touchpad, and he handed me my breakfast.

I ate the egg sandwich with bacon and used only half of the muffin to stay an inch closer to my low-carb diet, even though I should’ve ditched the other half, too. But oh well. I love English muffins too much.

Now I sit outside in the wind. A pesky fly keeps landing on my forehead, and I keep swatting it away. It’s insistent on ruining my morning. I think that jerk in the Prius has possessed that fly. Either way, I’m very annoyed.

I have to take my car in for maintenance today at 9 a.m., and I know it’s gonna take all day for them to work on it because that’s what car dealerships do, especially with a car like mine, which is a mess inside, and the outside is full of dirt. A co-worker who had a cousin who worked as a car mechanic at a dealership once told me that they take their sweet ass time with dirty cars and work on the cleaner cars first. Makes sense. Who wants to work on a dirty car? It would be like a server not serving a table full of dirty people. They would rather serve the cleaner people.

But anyway, it’s a Saturday, so who am I to complain?