MorningsWaking up in a chair, the young father (really, was he still so young when he was thirty years of age?), looked to the bed in front of him. Empty. He shouldn’t have been surprised, if he thought about it, and got up to the cracking of his joints, stiff from his seated sleep.Mornings19 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
Blinking away the dreams from his eyes, he reached into his breast-pocket for a pair of glasses. Finding none, he simply grumbled quietly to himself about misplacing the pair of spectacles. Again. Stretching his arms up beyond his head where the messy ponytail sat high, he shook his head as he yawned. This would be a good morning. Despite it being Friday.
Checking his watch for a moment, he read the analog face quickly; 6:45. Dawn was peeking at him from through the blinds in the child’s room, the walls painted with various depictions of the sun throughout the day. A wonderful mural, but one that he was just as certain the young two and half year old would not be able to understand. Walking over to the