George

George was a simple man, and thus lead a simple life style. Each morning he would get up out of bed, pull on his dark trousers, and head downstairs. A single boiled egg would be all that George would eat for breakfast, a habit which has bemused his family for years, but now as he lived on his own he did no longer have to deal with judgment on his bizzare practice. While eating his egg thoughts wandered in and out of Georges brain, coming and going as they pleased. Occasionally he would hold onto one of these for a few moments more, possibly pondering whether he should buy another set of trousers, or wash the cat. Once he had finished his egg George would rummage for a shirt, preferably with a collar, and set off for work. On the way he passed all the usual sights; the stunted tree, the corner shop, the wino's sitting about in the alley, so on and so forth. The trip took roughly about seven minutes and forty-two seconds and George took in every second of it. He lived for the summers breeze that would blow through the air, gently caressing him as he strode down the lane. A subtle warmth would dance on the cobble stones and fill Georges heart with joy. Sadly, this summers morning was to be Georges last trip down the cobbled lane as the culmination of one of his few indulgences in life came to a head. Within six minutes and seventeen seconds of starting his walk George collapsed on the pavement dead from a cholesterol build up in his heart. In the end it was the eggs that got him. But the sole point of Georges life was not only eat eggs in moderation, but also to enjoy the simple things in life. Though he may have lived simply George did die a happy man, and if given the chance to look back on his life, he would have smiled.