From the moment he scrambled out of bed he knew today would be different. The night before he'd forgotten to set his alarm, snoozing blissfully until a boisterous thunderclap smacked him out of oblivion. In his subsequent haste he stubbed his toe, and try as he may he couldn't find a comb. Fresh out of clean shirts he dug one from the hamper, and despite skipping breakfast he still missed his bus. Stranded beneath a badass black thundercloud, bird shit running down his back, he knew it was going to be one of those days. Something in the wind told him so. The way it smacked him in the face. The way it moaned in his ears.
