He woke up to the sound of the alarm clock beeping at 5:30 a.m. with great pleasure. “Nooooo!” He groaned, turning to face his nightstand which bore a model dragon and phoenix clashing mid battle. “Of course you’re gonna come late- early,” he corrected himself, so tired he was. Sighing and thinking about how cliche of a start to his day this was, he got up and blew his nose with a tissue from the tissue box, brushed his teeth with water from the kitchen sink, and ate some noodles for breakfast. He sat outside under a red beach umbrella next to some orchids and a palm tree and opened up his overheated computer that seemed to be ancient, browsing Etsy. He found a series of bowls, takeout boxes, ski poles, a red plastic ruler, a stapler, Cetaphil lotion that had been scented with lavender essence, a photo frame etched with some sleeping cats, spectacles that resembled Samar’s new glasses, and a gorgeous pillow that looked like Molly’s new pillow.

At that moment, his mischievous child walked out, presumably to play on the trampoline without any breakfast. She looked at the screen. “I have a sweater that color!” she babbled.

“Not necessarily,” the man replied, intent on checking out his purchase. “Well, I mean to say, maybe, maybe not.”

He continued until he saw a dreadful message. 

“WHAT? IT’S ON BACKORDER?!” He was filled with anger equivalent to the vengeance of a tired high-schooler.

“Skill issue,” his child said, leaving for the trampoline. That was when he spotted the same pillow in his child’s room.

“So, was that you?” He murmured, relaxing.

The deeply suspicious plastic bag was full of gumdrops that had a vague resemblance to lint. As he looked at it, he sneezed from the pollen caused by the nearby clump of aster. Thinking about how litter might affect the critically endangered Sumatran tiger, he inspected the plastic bag, unaware of a Venus fly trap growing nearby, which immediately clamped around his nose. He yelped and backed up, then turned around just in time to realize he nearly crashed into a cactus- backing away, his head bumped into a lemon tree. As he stumbled forward nearby the plastic bag, he absentmindedly set it on fire; meanwhile, a swallowtail butterfly alighted on some calla lilies, its wings with patterns like bumblebee jasper. As it flew past his nose, he noted how it smelled like hot chocolate. "Wait," he thought. Did he say it out loud? He was in her front yard, and she would not be pleased to hear him on her lawn again. "I know you didn’t just say that," he thought; nevertheless, he panicked, rushing forward and nearly colliding with a passerby bumblebee. The bumblebee buzzed angrily- its antennae flared up as it scented the smoke. He noticed it too, but it was far too late to do anything. Thinking about how much he deserved a good creme brulee when he got home, he fled the scene while she screamed from her window, “ARGH! NOT AGAIN!”