[for alex] chance meeting
Thursday morning, Compound kitchen. The coffee maker to be exact. You'd think with no crime to fight and more time to sleep, I could go without. You'd be wrong.
Maybe it's the sex, but I don't think so. I have a theory, see. I think I've been living at red alert for fifteen years. Living on three hours of sleep most nights and cat naps, except when I'm recovering from the most recent life-threatening injury. Now that I'm down to yellow alert or maybe not even - you try convincing your brain you're in danger when the hardest thing you have to do most days is a triple twisting quadruple back - my system's crashing.
The end result is that even when I get three times as much sleep, I need twice as much coffee.
...it's a theory.
Dick yawns, stretching up onto his toes and pulling his arms up over his head. Pandiculation, it's called, the automatic stretching that goes with a yawn. Maybe they named it after pandas. Somehow he doesn't think so.
God, he needs coffee. And possibly to stop having uniform sex with Roy after patrol. Oh hell no. Coffee. When the evil machine - evil because it won't brew as fast as he wants it too - finally drips dark enough to be coffee instead of stained water, Dick sighs with relief, snares the coffee pot and replaces it with his mug. His foot taps against the floor while he waits.
Maybe it's the sex, but I don't think so. I have a theory, see. I think I've been living at red alert for fifteen years. Living on three hours of sleep most nights and cat naps, except when I'm recovering from the most recent life-threatening injury. Now that I'm down to yellow alert or maybe not even - you try convincing your brain you're in danger when the hardest thing you have to do most days is a triple twisting quadruple back - my system's crashing.
The end result is that even when I get three times as much sleep, I need twice as much coffee.
...it's a theory.
Dick yawns, stretching up onto his toes and pulling his arms up over his head. Pandiculation, it's called, the automatic stretching that goes with a yawn. Maybe they named it after pandas. Somehow he doesn't think so.
God, he needs coffee. And possibly to stop having uniform sex with Roy after patrol. Oh hell no. Coffee. When the evil machine - evil because it won't brew as fast as he wants it too - finally drips dark enough to be coffee instead of stained water, Dick sighs with relief, snares the coffee pot and replaces it with his mug. His foot taps against the floor while he waits.