He wakes up tangled in his sheets, crust still caked in the corners of his eyes. He scratches his chest lazily and swings his big feet off the bed, yawning loud. He shuffles to the bathroom, his size 13 feet slapping against the tile. Takes a long, lazy piss, not bothering to aim — some splashes onto the seat, the floor, and his own feet. He doesn't care. He doesn't flush. Doesn't wash his hands. He sniffs one hairy pit on the way out and grimaces slightly but shrugs. He lets out a deep burp that echoes off the tile and spits into the sink.
He pads downstairs to the kitchen in just his boxers, riding low. His mom is at the counter making breakfast. She lights up when she sees him — her baby boy. He opens the fridge, grabs a Gatorade, chugs half of it. Drops the bottle right on the counter. She picks it up for him without a word. He lets one rip — a deep, loud fart — right there in the kitchen. His mom just waves her hand and laughs. "Morning sweetheart, you want eggs?" He rolls his eyes. "nah im good" She watches him walk away like he hung the moon. His dad's credit card is sitting on the counter — he swipes it on his way out without asking.
He heads back upstairs, flops onto bed, and grabs his phone.
hey bro whatre we doing today i got my dads card 💀