this morning, he woke up with a foul, bitter taste in his mouth. he was forty and a day, with much to consider for the day ahead...for the weekend ahead...for the year ahead...for the rest of it. the hair on his face emerged in spurts, a sparse reminder of his age & his body's inability to properly display it. there was coffee dripping in the other room & until it was ready, he would not vacate. he would lay in bed, face illuminated by his iphone, until at least a mug's worth had percolated through. he looked to his left at the girl to his left & he grinned at what she knew. he wasn't the man that she once thought he was but he still was the man that she loved. he was forty and a day. he was happy & content but contentious & ready for war. when he finally arose & put on his clothes, he still felt there was something he'd missed.