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It has become terribly clear to a certain young lady in college that, perhaps, taking that 7:30 AM class was something of a mistake. She hadn't thought it would be fun, but she had liked the ideas of having her afternoons free, and it's not like she was incapable of getting up early. If anything, she kind of preferred it, for the aforementioned ability to free up the rest of her day.
She had not, however, expected the loud neighbors that thought Saturday nights were the time to have loud, obnoxious parties that kept her up until 2 AM and ruined her sleep schedule. She'd hoped she could fix it on Sunday with an early bedtime, but as several hours staring at her ceiling the night before has just proven: nope. Nope, that is not how that works.
So here she is. Submitting with bleary eyes and a fraying temper to the addiction to the greatest sanctioned drug of them all: sweet, sweet caffeine. She stares at the board, trying to figure out if she'll have to disentangle some insane sizing or flavoring system. Sizing looks sane, which is good, because she cannot be bothered to remember the difference between a venti and a grande, especially when grande means big, but then isn't. Flavoring... eh. She doesn't have the energy to care, everything tastes like death at this time in the morning anyway. Might as well skip the fluff and just go straight for her drug of choice like the hopeless junkie she is.
"One double espresso, please. I desperately need enough caffeine to convince me that murder is wrong again."
