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Anatomy of Jeremy Brooks

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Jeremy Brooks has brown hair that he did not comb today. Jeremy Brooks has brown eyes, too, but the thick rims of his glasses (which he always wears and never contacts because they are never moist enough) are olive green. Jeremy Brooks wears size 32 x 36 jeans and they are always faded (like they’re old and good and worn in even though he buys them that way). Jeremy Brooks also wears a black blazer that he bought at H&M, along with the gray zip-up hoodie he wears underneath. Jeremy Brooks wants to like coffee, but he thinks it’s too bitter. Jeremy Brooks’ left sneaker is untied. Jeremy Brooks sighs a lot, even though he’s not tired most of the time. Jeremy Brooks speaks at a normal volume, except when he’s talking on his cell phone. When Jeremy Brooks talks on his cell phone he speaks at a very high volume. Jeremy Brooks clears his throat when there’s nothing irritating it. Jeremy Brooks looks at his wrist to see what time it is even though he’s not wearing a watch. He had a raspberry Pop-Tart for breakfast, which is actually very hard to find because the local Stop & Shop discontinued them. It was the last one in the box; he will move on to blueberry tomorrow. Jeremy Brooks is not looking forward to moving on to blueberry tomorrow. He is looking forward to finding his watch.
This afternoon, as every other afternoon, the most important thing to Jeremy Brooks is his grande caramel macchiato. Jeremy Brooks’ change is a dollar sixteen. The sixteen is dropped into the tip jar, the dollar slipped knowingly into the faded black leather wallet Jeremy Brooks then tucks into the outer pocket of his massive black leather messenger bag, which holds fifteen notebooks, or four wool sweaters, or his dead cocker spaniel, or something that causes the sides of the bag to bulge to maximum capacity. The outer pocket with wallet safe inside, however, snaps closed casually. Jeremy Brooks slings it over one shoulder (the bag, that is) and takes the 10% post-consumer fiber cup housing his hot liquid friend from the counter. Jeremy Brooks slips it into a 60% post-consumer fiber corrugated cardboard sleeve. Jeremy Brooks rolls his eyes. Two weeks to Thanksgiving and already with the red and white cups. “Pass the cheer...” they say. Jeremy Brooks sips and the grande caramel macchiato burns his tongue a little. A small wince, but it feels good. To Jeremy Brooks, it feels like 2:30 Tuesday. It also feels like 2:30 every other day of the week. It mostly feels like two weeks to Thanksgiving with a Christmas coffee cup. But it feels good.





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