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Description
The alarm clock suddenly exploded into music as the old fashion number cards flipped to 6:00AM.

"If you feel so empty, so used up, so let down. If you feel so angry, so ripped off, so stepped on. Your not the only one refusing to back down. Your not the only one. So get UPPPP!!! LET'S START A RIOT!!!! A RIOT!!!!"

Light shined through the cloudy glass of the cheap crank windows, falling across the twin sized bed and it's non-matching sheets and covers. Someone stirred underneath the thick comforter. A hand reached out searching the desk beside the bed, where an old desktop computer sat dark, cold, and quiet. Nearly a minute of careful searching yielded no snooze button.
"Oh yeahhh..." A man groaned. He lifted his head above the fluffy sheets with a sleep saturated gaze. There was the alarm clock. Across the room. Right next to the bathroom door. Where he had put it to force himself to get up. On max volume. With the most rattling rock music he could find on his computer and put on a CD.

"LET'S START A RIOT!!!! A RIOT!!!! LET'S START A RIOT!!!"

The clock jumped and vibrated on the table cluttered with old mail, socks, and empty bottles and cans of soda. The man groaned as he threw off the thick comforter and sat up on his bed, light hitting his bony pale back. He got up, one leg of his long pajama pants, which were covered in pictures of kittens, fell to normal length again after yet another night of tossing and turning. His sister thought it was funny, but not him, as it was the warmest comfortable thing he had to wear in the heat-less one bedroom apartment. It wasn't that there was no heater, he just couldn't afford to run it. He was stretched tight on loans as it was.

He passed by the clock and into the bathroom. He was up already, no sense in hitting snooze now. Plus, he kinda liked this song.

"This ain't a song for the broken hearted."

The clock vibrated with the beat. He closed the door partially and lifted the toilet seat.

"And I ain't gonna be just a face in the crowd, you're gonna hear my voice when I shout it out loud!"

Two beats.
"It's my liiffe, it's now or neverrr! I ain't gonna live forever! I just wanna live where I'm aliveee!!!" He sang along sightly. The toilet flushed and he walked out into the bedroom for a moment, grabbing a few clothes off the floor. He walked back into the bathroom and threw them on a chair that was shoved in there.
"It's. My. Life." He finished with the chorus. He looked in the mirror, and a sickly man stared back. Black short hair tangled every which way, oil from a week of non-showering matting pieces together. A few days worth of 5 O clock shadow and sunken tired looking eyes were quite effective in making him look like a bum. He didn't want to look like a bum. Bum's don't get promotions. Or raises. Or girls. He sighed and turned on the bathroom light, as the light from the windows in the bedroom was okay, but not good for messing with razor sharp shaving equipment.
He set the water running, smearing his face with shaving gel from a small demo can of product. Couldn't afford the real thing. Another song came on the clock, though he wasn't too fond of it.
He finished up shaving near the end of the song, then went for a bottle of hand sanitizer and smeared his armpits with it. He rubbed until it was dry, then put on a generous amount of dollar store gel deodorant. Squishy. He grabbed a T-shirt from the chair, turning it right side in and slipping it on. Then came a pair of baggy jean shorts. His legs looked like forests. He wanted to shave them to possibly thin out the hair but guys don't shave there. They're strange if they do and they're not a professional swimmer or something. He left the bathroom, through the bedroom, and into a small combined kitchen slash living area. It was nearly just as messy. A TV sat in a cheap entertainment center case in the corner of the room, a coffee table piled with newspapers and magazines, couch, and a lamp made up the living area. The kitchen lacked a stove, pretty much replaced by a microwave. Usual sink, cupboards, and a fridge fit in an area about the size of his mattress, water heater hidden in a closet just to the side.

He went right to the fridge and opened it up. Aside from a pack of baloney and the last of a loaf of bread, it was pretty much devoid of food. The bottom, though, was stuffed with at least 3 boxes of soda of three different kinds. He reached back into one of the most empty boxes and pulled out the last can, then pulling out the box as well and throwing it on the counter to be dealt with later. He opened the can, contents hissing and he bumped the fridge door shut and slurped at the escaping drink. He opened it the rest of the way and took a drink, walking back into the bedroom and abruptly making a hastened U-turn as he saw it said 6:42AM. He had less than half an hour to get to work! He snatched his backpack from the couch, grabbing a back support harness from the coffee table and stuffing it inside. He grabbed his keys from a hook by the door and begun to close it behind him when he stopped and reached his arm in and locked the knob from the inside. Closing the door and slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he jumped to the stairs and raced down them. His place was on the second floor and the stairs were situated outside between two buildings. Concrete and peeling green painted metal raced by him as he reached the ground floor.
He suddenly slowed as he saw his bike. He couldn't believe this. Great! Someone stole his flicking front wheel! He would have to race to intercept the bus as it's route made a gradual u-turn heading in the direction he needed to go. He huffed and began jogging out of the cover of the building and through the parking lot. He squeezed between a foot wide space in the apartment park's fence to save time going all the way around to the entrance. This was exactly the situation he had the bike for, for if he missed the buss. He had been using it regularly though so he wouldn't have to get started earlier. This is also why he preferred bottles, the soda was sloshing around in and out of the can as he ran. He went through the difficulty to drink as he ran.

He finished the can as he was almost to the stop he needed. The bus was coming along the road as he went, traveling right at him. He waved as he ran, throwing the can into a forgotten trash can that had been set up at the stop a long time ago. The bus's stopping lights started blinking as it slowed down in a short amount of time, as though the bus driver was really not intending to stop if he had not waved. He got on, the mid-aged woman keeping a silent attitude and started driving again as he pulled out his wallet, found his pass, and slid it through the terminal.

"Card not valid."

A voice emanated from the machine. He ran it again.

"Card not valid."

He sighed and looked at the bus driver. She waved him on sourly. He walked back to the seats of the bus and took the first seat on the left. The seats there were turned to face the aisle of the bus, meant to be flipped up when a patron in a wheelchair got on the bus. There were a few other people on the bus, some listening to mp3 players, some messing with or talking on their phones, reading the free newspapers that the bus provided, or one or two doing just nothing at all because they didn't have any of these things. He was one of the two in that group.

It was a ten minute bus ride, give or take, before he pulled the cord signaling the bus to stop at the next stop. The bus slowed, and he got up and used the back doors as he saw an lady with 10 bags of groceries going to get on the front.

The sun was up now, the clouds driven away by a strong breeze creating waves on the large area of short grass where water went when it rained. It was dry now. He walked past it and hopped over the decorative bushes and into the parking lot of the plaza. Near the middle, a large sign displayed the store name Sungrown Produce. He headed for the back area of the building.

"Well they're there and waiting to unload! You're in charge of shipments, you should of already knew we already had too much already!" A bald man in a white shirt yelled, a red haired woman the target. She had to obviously look up as he was quite tall.
"I did not know, okay? Chuck? If you would keep better records of inventory-"
"No. No. You keep record of the shipments, you KNEW we just got a big shipment yesterday!" Chuck cut in.

He noticed this fight as he climbed up the loading bay.
"Hey! Chunk!" He called, walking up.
"...It's Chuck, Dilbert." Chuck said in a deadly monotone.
"Meh, if this were an office job, that'd be true. Just go put the Romain lettuce on sale, someone will buy it." He said casually.
"This isn't really your business, Will." Chuck said.
"Well, yeah, it is my business when a big guy like you is scaring the crap out of pretty ladies like Katie here, big bully." Wilbert joked, but still got the death stare.
"That's big BOSS to you. You better work your ass off today or you're out of here..." Chuck glared and walked back into the store office.

Katie let out a breath, "Oh dear...Thanks Will." She began walking back to a desk by the loading port. Will followed.
"Velcommee!" He joked in a creepy voice, "He's actually a big ugly guy but meh. Soo, where does that put me on your scale of date-ability?"
"Scale of what? Oh I don't know. Maybe just under two percent." Katie said after thinking a moment.
"Oh your so mean!" He said, mock crying. "Hey wasn't I at five percent last week?"
"I don't know, you don't think I'm actually keeping track do you...?" She asked, walking around the desk and looking at the papers strewn across it.
"Hey I nearly got fired! That's got to be worth something?" He asked.
"Yeah, it's worth your paycheck. Go work for it. Go on." She said, shooing him.
"Fineee! But I'll get lucky one day! Bet you twenty bucks!" He shouted, walking off.
"Yeah sure..." She said, writing something on the data sheets.

Will looked back a few times before climbing up into a forklift. He powered it up as a large truck docked in the loading bay. The back opened and the metal guard was lied down to cover the gap. The machinery buzzed as Will lowered the forks, driving to the dock and sliding them in the gap of a pallet holding a large crate full of Romain lettuce...

Description
The alarm clock suddenly exploded into music as the old fashion number cards flipped to 6:00AM.

"If you feel so empty, so used up, so let down. If you feel so angry, so ripped off, so stepped on. Your not the only one refusing to back down. Your not the only one. So get UPPPP!!! LET'S START A RIOT!!!! A RIOT!!!!"

Light shined through the cloudy glass of the cheap crank windows, falling across the twin sized bed and it's non-matching sheets and covers. Someone stirred underneath the thick comforter. A hand reached out searching the desk beside the bed, where an old desktop computer sat dark, cold, and quiet. Nearly a minute of careful searching yielded no snooze button.
"Oh yeahhh..." A man groaned. He lifted his head above the fluffy sheets with a sleep saturated gaze. There was the alarm clock. Across the room. Right next to the bathroom door. Where he had put it to force himself to get up. On max volume. With the most rattling rock music he could find on his computer and put on a CD.

"LET'S START A RIOT!!!! A RIOT!!!! LET'S START A RIOT!!!"

The clock jumped and vibrated on the table cluttered with old mail, socks, and empty bottles and cans of soda. The man groaned as he threw off the thick comforter and sat up on his bed, light hitting his bony pale back. He got up, one leg of his long pajama pants, which were covered in pictures of kittens, fell to normal length again after yet another night of tossing and turning. His sister thought it was funny, but not him, as it was the warmest comfortable thing he had to wear in the heat-less one bedroom apartment. It wasn't that there was no heater, he just couldn't afford to run it. He was stretched tight on loans as it was.

He passed by the clock and into the bathroom. He was up already, no sense in hitting snooze now. Plus, he kinda liked this song.

"This ain't a song for the broken hearted."

The clock vibrated with the beat. He closed the door partially and lifted the toilet seat.

"And I ain't gonna be just a face in the crowd, you're gonna hear my voice when I shout it out loud!"

Two beats.
"It's my liiffe, it's now or neverrr! I ain't gonna live forever! I just wanna live where I'm aliveee!!!" He sang along sightly. The toilet flushed and he walked out into the bedroom for a moment, grabbing a few clothes off the floor. He walked back into the bathroom and threw them on a chair that was shoved in there.
"It's. My. Life." He finished with the chorus. He looked in the mirror, and a sickly man stared back. Black short hair tangled every which way, oil from a week of non-showering matting pieces together. A few days worth of 5 O clock shadow and sunken tired looking eyes were quite effective in making him look like a bum. He didn't want to look like a bum. Bum's don't get promotions. Or raises. Or girls. He sighed and turned on the bathroom light, as the light from the windows in the bedroom was okay, but not good for messing with razor sharp shaving equipment.
He set the water running, smearing his face with shaving gel from a small demo can of product. Couldn't afford the real thing. Another song came on the clock, though he wasn't too fond of it.
He finished up shaving near the end of the song, then went for a bottle of hand sanitizer and smeared his armpits with it. He rubbed until it was dry, then put on a generous amount of dollar store gel deodorant. Squishy. He grabbed a T-shirt from the chair, turning it right side in and slipping it on. Then came a pair of baggy jean shorts. His legs looked like forests. He wanted to shave them to possibly thin out the hair but guys don't shave there. They're strange if they do and they're not a professional swimmer or something. He left the bathroom, through the bedroom, and into a small combined kitchen slash living area. It was nearly just as messy. A TV sat in a cheap entertainment center case in the corner of the room, a coffee table piled with newspapers and magazines, couch, and a lamp made up the living area. The kitchen lacked a stove, pretty much replaced by a microwave. Usual sink, cupboards, and a fridge fit in an area about the size of his mattress, water heater hidden in a closet just to the side.

He went right to the fridge and opened it up. Aside from a pack of baloney and the last of a loaf of bread, it was pretty much devoid of food. The bottom, though, was stuffed with at least 3 boxes of soda of three different kinds. He reached back into one of the most empty boxes and pulled out the last can, then pulling out the box as well and throwing it on the counter to be dealt with later. He opened the can, contents hissing and he bumped the fridge door shut and slurped at the escaping drink. He opened it the rest of the way and took a drink, walking back into the bedroom and abruptly making a hastened U-turn as he saw it said 6:42AM. He had less than half an hour to get to work! He snatched his backpack from the couch, grabbing a back support harness from the coffee table and stuffing it inside. He grabbed his keys from a hook by the door and begun to close it behind him when he stopped and reached his arm in and locked the knob from the inside. Closing the door and slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he jumped to the stairs and raced down them. His place was on the second floor and the stairs were situated outside between two buildings. Concrete and peeling green painted metal raced by him as he reached the ground floor.
He suddenly slowed as he saw his bike. He couldn't believe this. Great! Someone stole his flicking front wheel! He would have to race to intercept the bus as it's route made a gradual u-turn heading in the direction he needed to go. He huffed and began jogging out of the cover of the building and through the parking lot. He squeezed between a foot wide space in the apartment park's fence to save time going all the way around to the entrance. This was exactly the situation he had the bike for, for if he missed the buss. He had been using it regularly though so he wouldn't have to get started earlier. This is also why he preferred bottles, the soda was sloshing around in and out of the can as he ran. He went through the difficulty to drink as he ran.

He finished the can as he was almost to the stop he needed. The bus was coming along the road as he went, traveling right at him. He waved as he ran, throwing the can into a forgotten trash can that had been set up at the stop a long time ago. The bus's stopping lights started blinking as it slowed down in a short amount of time, as though the bus driver was really not intending to stop if he had not waved. He got on, the mid-aged woman keeping a silent attitude and started driving again as he pulled out his wallet, found his pass, and slid it through the terminal.

"Card not valid."

A voice emanated from the machine. He ran it again.

"Card not valid."

He sighed and looked at the bus driver. She waved him on sourly. He walked back to the seats of the bus and took the first seat on the left. The seats there were turned to face the aisle of the bus, meant to be flipped up when a patron in a wheelchair got on the bus. There were a few other people on the bus, some listening to mp3 players, some messing with or talking on their phones, reading the free newspapers that the bus provided, or one or two doing just nothing at all because they didn't have any of these things. He was one of the two in that group.

It was a ten minute bus ride, give or take, before he pulled the cord signaling the bus to stop at the next stop. The bus slowed, and he got up and used the back doors as he saw an lady with 10 bags of groceries going to get on the front.

The sun was up now, the clouds driven away by a strong breeze creating waves on the large area of short grass where water went when it rained. It was dry now. He walked past it and hopped over the decorative bushes and into the parking lot of the plaza. Near the middle, a large sign displayed the store name Sungrown Produce. He headed for the back area of the building.

"Well they're there and waiting to unload! You're in charge of shipments, you should of already knew we already had too much already!" A bald man in a white shirt yelled, a red haired woman the target. She had to obviously look up as he was quite tall.
"I did not know, okay? Chuck? If you would keep better records of inventory-"
"No. No. You keep record of the shipments, you KNEW we just got a big shipment yesterday!" Chuck cut in.

He noticed this fight as he climbed up the loading bay.
"Hey! Chunk!" He called, walking up.
"...It's Chuck, Dilbert." Chuck said in a deadly monotone.
"Meh, if this were an office job, that'd be true. Just go put the Romain lettuce on sale, someone will buy it." He said casually.
"This isn't really your business, Will." Chuck said.
"Well, yeah, it is my business when a big guy like you is scaring the crap out of pretty ladies like Katie here, big bully." Wilbert joked, but still got the death stare.
"That's big BOSS to you. You better work your ass off today or you're out of here..." Chuck glared and walked back into the store office.

Katie let out a breath, "Oh dear...Thanks Will." She began walking back to a desk by the loading port. Will followed.
"Velcommee!" He joked in a creepy voice, "He's actually a big ugly guy but meh. Soo, where does that put me on your scale of date-ability?"
"Scale of what? Oh I don't know. Maybe just under two percent." Katie said after thinking a moment.
"Oh your so mean!" He said, mock crying. "Hey wasn't I at five percent last week?"
"I don't know, you don't think I'm actually keeping track do you...?" She asked, walking around the desk and looking at the papers strewn across it.
"Hey I nearly got fired! That's got to be worth something?" He asked.
"Yeah, it's worth your paycheck. Go work for it. Go on." She said, shooing him.
"Fineee! But I'll get lucky one day! Bet you twenty bucks!" He shouted, walking off.
"Yeah sure..." She said, writing something on the data sheets.

Will looked back a few times before climbing up into a forklift. He powered it up as a large truck docked in the loading bay. The back opened and the metal guard was lied down to cover the gap. The machinery buzzed as Will lowered the forks, driving to the dock and sliding them in the gap of a pallet holding a large crate full of Romain lettuce...