Snippet #2166675

Dr. Zaz Watson woke late that day. Dreams again... He hated dreams, always of war, suffering and failure... At least he had something that was guaranteed to happen every night, order in the chaos of this town. He opened one bleary eye and blinked the sleep away. Red numbers declared it to be after noon. Zaz sighed. He was late, but it wasn't like he was ever on time anyways, anymore. They wouldn't notice, never did, the little blighters. He loved them nonetheless, though, and he would make sure they were okay. He fought the confines of his bed unwillingly and stood on the hard wooden floor. Same floor, same tiny apartment, day after day. Order... but some adventure was good.

Silently, as always, he showered and dressed. Plaid button-down, khakis, hiking boots, blues and browns. He used to wear more colors, but they just didn't appeal to him like they had before the war. On the way to the door, he swung on a tan coat and checked the pockets. Notebook: check. Wallet: check. Keys: check. Right where he left them all. One last stop by his desk for the small pistol he kept and he was out the door, headed for the park bench he so often inhabited.