The groggy eight-year old sat down at the breakfast table, blearily rubbing his eyes for clarity. Reaching out semi-blindly the boy's hand grabbed the glass of orange juice which he proceeded to chug mightily.
" What'll it be James? Oatmeal?" His mother asked
"No..hold the oats...I might just have toast and jam" James replied
The boys mother smiled, she loved her son, and his head was always full of so many interesting ideas, but really she had to admit that in the morning James much more resembled a washed up drunk than an eight-year old. She turned her back to find her son inserting not bread, not bagels, but rather powdered donuts into the toaster. "James!" his mother exclaimed, popping the scorched donuts out of the toaster and exchanging them for bread. Honestly you could not trust the boy until he was well and properly awake.
Mates of State
Palomino
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