On a Sunday

We were promised a western breakfast. Far from our world of truck stops and diners, we’d done for too long without bacon and eggs. So we shook off the Sunday morning and stirred up instant coffee.

First to rise with confusion, I tried to decipher the brown corduroys asleep next to me on the floor. Like a summer camp sleep over we rubbed eyes, grunted salutations, and slumped into chairs.

The Koreans took off for spicy noodles when we pulled the bacon from the fridge. By the time they returned we were playing cards, crossed legged and full bellied. Two episodes of Storm Chasers later the garbage was burned.

We packed back into the van and headed down the hill towards another sleep alone in our beds.