Chapter four: The Hardest Button... Brain Florer

With only three hours of sleep under his belt, the morning was filled with the sounds of clinking plates and screaming chefs in far corners of this dainty kitchen that somehow echoed internally in his very own coffee dunked mind. Now, only ten in the morning and the sun was fierce with it's heat as Rowland scrubbed and piled plates blankly in a small scullery tucked behind everything except a mostly empty staff parking lot behind the building which entailed nothing other than a few cars and a large rusty old garbage bin.

With breakfast rush hour almost over to Rowland's relief a small break was sorely needed as he finished wiping and scrubbing the extra pot or pan that lay dirty.

Once done, he picked up the garbage bags he had left earlier in one hand and put a cigarette into his mouth with the other. And as he put the bags beside the steps that lead out the back door someone called after him: