Sometimes Norman had trouble sleeping. Every now and then he would get restless enough to get up and watch television, and maybe have a midnight snack. As he flicked on the television, and went to check the refrigerator for something decent to eat, Norman noticed something troubling. He was out of bread.
Normally this wouldn't have bothered him, seeing as how he didn't plan on eating any bread for the time being, but the more he thought about it, the more he wondered just how disappointed he would be if he woke up the next morning with a hankering for toast and a refrigerator with no toast making materials in it.
This was an especially sleepless night for him, so Norman decided right then and there that he was just sleepless enough to brave the night and go to the corner store to buy a loaf of bread. He was fortunate enough to live in an area that possessed stores which were open twenty four hours a day, and so he put on his shoes, scratched Norman, who was curious as to what his owner was doing up in the middle of the night, behind the ears and exited his home.
He found the store quite easily, as it was brightly lit, a florescent oasis of corporate civilization in the midst of the night. There was a man at the register reading a copy of People magazine, and Norman noticed that he had dyed his hair blue before shrugging to himself and going through the aisles.
He found the bread easily enough and paid for it with a five, the blue haired man bagging it silently before wishing Norman a good night in a voice hollow with exhaustion. Norman felt quite sorry for the man, but didn't say anything to him, for all he knew the blue haired man could love his job, maybe he was nocturnal.
On his way back Norman nearly tripped over a large, round, soft object that had materialized in the middle of the sidewalk. It quacked at him and Norman took a few moments to realize that he had nearly stepped on a roosting duck.
"I'm sorry." He told the duck.
Quack said the duck. Norman squatted down, opened up his package of bread and gave the duck a slice. The duck stared at him with beady, somehow domesticated eyes and quacked again, in a tone that Norman interpreted as thankful. He smiled all of the rest of his way home, had toast and tea, and fell asleep watching reruns of CSI.
Submitted April 09, 2015 at 10:14PM by Marine2014 http://ift.tt/1FFu5cr lifeofnorman
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