Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
8 min @ Litttle Nicky’s
Every morning. Like clockwork. Literally. Maris would rise at five thirty. He used an alarm. Had too, because of the insomnia. But he had to keep consistent or he’d lose his spot. Five thirty five: cold water on the face, warm water gargle with a little Listerine, and a whiz. Five fifty: hot water into the thermos with the scoop of instant coffee. Six a-m: out the door. The canvases rolled from the night before ready to go, onto the bike and peddling through the bracing morning air. Everything steely grey but clean looking because of the sparkle of the rising sun. Maris got to his corner, the Guatemalan husband and wife were already laying out their silver and beads. The rush wouldn’t start for five hours but they were all ready for whatever the day would bring.
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