Can you imagine if there was someone out there doing this?

I wake up at 7:30. For breakfast I took some frozen pizza out of the fridge and put it in the microwave for 5 minutes. As it cooks, bubbling and popping like a cauldron of sauce and cheese, I mix a bowl of seasonings and oils that I adore on frozen pizzas.
I open up my cabinet and look to see what spices I had in stock. From the assorted collection of mints, herbs, leaves and powders, I select my accoutrements of the day.

Garlic powder, Thyme, vinegar, olive oil, salt, pepper and good old fashioned PCP.
I throw it all in my mixing bowl and hope for the best.

The timer goes off and my pizza is ready for me to season. When I open the microwave to take my food out, I burn my hand on the dish and hurl it across the room at an antique glass cheetah that my boss got me for Yam Kippur, shattering both.

“Son of God!” I shout, waving my hand in the air in a futile attempt to cool the skin. “God damn cheetah…”

My phone rings and I answer it quickly, simultaneously, running my hand under a cold tap. “Gordon’s residence,” I say, noticing the name on the mail on the counter. Then seeing that I had mis-read, I say, “I mean you have the wrong number.” Then I hang up quickly. Not wanting to let good food go to waste I scoop up the pizza and put it into a bowl, which I then run under a tap to clean the gunk off. Adding my seasonings from earlier, I also add some left over hash browns from the fridge. It tastes awful at first but I put some ketchup and mustard on it and it was passable.

“Hello?” I hear Barbara scream from the next room. “Is someone there, help me I’m chained to my bed and I’m…being held captive.”

“Barb, please.” I say. “It hasn’t been that bad. I ate some of your food and watched TV all night. I left you alone; I even bought you DVDs and popcorn; it was a fun night.”

“You broke into my house.” She yells. “You made me watch Bridge Over The River Kuai 4 times.”

“Nobody forced you to not ask for a different movie.”

“I was scared to death.” She yells angrily. “I thought you were going to rape torture and kill me.”

“Please.” I say. “Anyway, I’m leaving.” I wave behind my head. “Break the chain with a chisel or something. Toodles.”

I throw on my black leather jacket with lamb trim and yellow ribbons tied to the long tassels on the cuffs. “Where’s there an ATM?” I ask, suddenly feeling compelled to have money in my wallet. “Never mind.” I say changing my mind. “I’ll find it.”

It’s a nice warm New England in the spring type morning, foggy and wet and grey.
A young kid rides by on a bike carrying a bag full of newspapers. Someone I know waves at me from a car and I smile and wave back.