He lay in bed in the gray gloom of morning, listening to the murmur of raindrops on the roof, contemplating a better lifestyle than the one he was living. The soft steady rhythm of a thousand droplet drummers should have been comforting, but only made him envision hordes of them working their way through a leak to drip onto the living room ceiling. “Gotta get that fixed,” he muttered to the empty room, as though the words alone would somehow compel action.
In a reverie half way between waking and sleeping he lived a superb lifestyle. He was James Bond’s James Bond, merging the suave sophistication of the Sean Connery version with the ruthless grimness of Daniel Craig’s. A handsome, stylishly dressed bundle of testosterone laced charisma. Rising to his best in some chaotic scene just in time, calmly dispatching a dark underworld figure with a lightning quick jab to the throat or a dangerous spy with his silencer muted Walther PPK. Saving the free world time and again, and always getting the girl. Yes, the girl. Well several to choose from actually, but in the end winning over the sultry but aloof villainess. Leaning in for the impassioned kiss, lips about to touch –
– then yanked back to a stunned wakefulness by the shrieking of his alarm. Groaning softly he looked to the clock, knowing full well it would tell him it was time to get up, don his uniform and go make biscuits for the coming steady stream of drive-through customers grabbing breakfast on their way to work, totally unaware of him and his secret lifestyle. Perhaps tomorrow he’d find time to practice some martial arts moves, or get a nice haircut, or at least try to make a drinkable martini, whatever is in them.