Walk out the front door of your house/flat. Take a die with you. Walk to the nearest crossroad. Roll die. 1-2, turn left; 3-4, straight ahead; 5-6, turn right. Walk until you reach another crossroad. Please repeat as many times as desired and write about where you end up.

I decided to carry on until I could find a cafe for breakfast. I was going to cheat when it put me on the right road for my favourite cafe, but had a change of heart by the first crossroad I’d have had to ignore.

Breakfast is gong to be Eggs Florentine (laden with ethical guilt) at Inside Out Cafe.

My favourite/least favourite Billy Joel track just came on.

Actually fuck it. It’s my favourite. I do go walking in my sleep to the River of dreams in the middle of the night. I MUST be looking for something.

Oh yes.

I thought this morning was going to be a nightmare, but as it is, I’m probably just going to be late for work. This place is trying quite hard to have a Mediterranean feel without being too kitsch. I can’t decide if it works or not, but this curvy seat is nowhere near as comfortable as it looks. I do feel a little bit cool though. And the only other person here (apart from Billy) is the chef.

During the little break before the third chorus, all I could hear was the egg cracking. That is a marvellously fleshy cracking sound. The liquid splits out of the shell and it’s all solid and loud and satisfying.

Someone has invaded my peace, turquoise jumper and an inability to eat breakfast at home (doesn’t know how to make anything without meat? Cereal can be so challenging).

Basically, the music has changed and it’s made me bitter. I suspect it’s still Billy Joel, but it’s all shitty flat power drum rolls and boring guitar.

Not even a ludicrous saxophone solo can save it.

I’m definitely not sure when I switched to enjoying saxophone solos. I blame David Bowie and Jim O’Rourke.

Fuck. Didn’t check the menu and here florentine is defined as  spinach and ham with egg. This is not the case anywhere else, but now I am in an ethical hole. Have caused an amount of flesh to be cooked, and can’t really do much about it. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

I’m gonna look up Eggs florentine when I get back home, but it’s always meant eggs, spinach and hollandaise. It’s the vegetarian benedict, right? Is that not the point?

Anyway, I should’ve read the menu, and now it’s not just eggs (I’m not actually vegan yet, so really that’s kinda of okay) I’m to blame for.

I hope he eats the meat. That’ll make me feel less shit.

Morning gone wrong. It was probably because I was mean about the man in the turquoise shirt.

Anyway. That was just breakfast. This time without meat. Proper tasty, but (presumably from the extra delay and self cooking abilities) the egg yolks were cooked, which means that the poached eggs weren’t like eating clouds. Which means I could do better. Still. Billy Joel is making me feel positive, and turquoise man is making me feel like less of a wanker.

Brighton’s fucking weird.

Me too.

Illustration by Adam.

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About Alabaster Crippens

Joiner of Dots. Player of Games. Unreliable Narrator. Dancing Fool.
This entry was posted in Illustrations by Adam, Questions by Alex P. Bookmark the permalink.

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