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          It's the next day. I woke up with the sun filtering through my blinds and onto my face. It was an orange sun, oriental, the type of sun you imagine a Japanese man waking up to before he practices tai-chi in the early morning. Though I cried and wailed the night before, sleep seemed to soothe me. I edged out of bed, got ready, and sauntered down to the 24 hr diner right across from the building. I sat at a table by myself and ordered a big breakfast: coffee, bacon, eggs, hashbrowns, and a waffle. I looked to my left and saw that my meal was more than matched by two men at a booth, wolfing down food like their lives depended on it.
          I've learned that when men devour food at that rate, it means one of two things: they haven't eaten in days or they are totally stoned, man! Judging by their puffy red eyes, the way they would giggle to themselves, and the fact that they would continually exclaim "this food is good as fuck!", I assumed the latter. When my food arrived, I began to eat gracefully in what I thought may serve as some type of deprecation to the men, but I couldn't help stealing glances at them. I heard noises like lions in Africa ripping into their prey after weeks of starvation; just ravenous, primal, noises. The more I observed them, the more I began to think it was funny. They were enmeshed in their own little worlds, happy, and totally severed from reality, like children. I think what I thought was so hilarious was that these two rough-looking men, middle-aged, were smiling as if they were seven, in the very midst of a splendid childhood, and full of wonderment. Silly little grins lit up faces that had seen hardship, sorrows, and funniest of all, prostate problems!