Morning Glory Isn't much out there today but a bunch of soaking wet dogs, waterlogged to drowning plants in pots. Isn't much in here either. Yea, he figured it was time to get up and join the rest of them out there in the cold and wet. otherwise he'd be late for the match factory and Mr. Occotillo would be pissed. He got his overshoes on and all the rest of the ridiculous outfit and trudged out into the drizzle. (God, some people actually like this kind of weather) Couldn't even keep the match going trying to light a cigarette in the rain - balancing the stupid umbrella in the crook of his left elbow - it falling sidways, him getting soaked and the cigarette sodden. Not a seat left in the Phenix Cafe all steamy and stinking of everyone else. He had to stand for what seemed forever until the apartment block sized Mrs. Cholla got up and squeezed her soggy mohair past him - the litle hairs tiny wet water colour brushes sliding along the back of his hand. She was a revolting mixture of smells stalled in the doorway, her damp rotundity pinning him to the wall as Mr. Occotillo rushed through the door and sat himself exactly where Mrs. cholla had been. Breakfast was not to be expected in this life, he thought.