The coffee tasted good. He had loaded it with sugar and cream (every calorie counted!), the sweet milky mixture overpowering the acrid tones of the java beans. Tyson HAD to get out of his apartment. He had spent the past week cooped up in it, forcefeeding himself carry out and chugging cream, desperately trying to get his weight up. He just wanted this gaining over with, so he could finally get to that whole ‘acceptance’ crap that his agent kept telling him was right around the corner. He refocused on the script, mumbling random words in hopes of attaining memorization. It was hard without a practice partner sometimes, but his part was monologue-heavy due to a silent partner, so he had to get used to it anyway.

His trenchcoat and shades made him look like a portly private eye, like a noir character who replaced alcoholism with food addiction. Some people he recognized passed close by and he instinctively hid himself, red blush through his cheeks. He REALLY didn’t want to be seen like this, so weird and portly. They would laugh at him, call him the names that he had made up in boredom during his fourth Chinese food funnel session on his couch. He had to keep it a secret!

Though, actually, thinking about that funnel session, that was pretty tasty. He definitely enjoyed the freedom of choice with his food he now had; no more worrying about fitness or carbs. The weight definitely gave him more presence too; people were giving him wider berth, which in a packed city like L.A. meant elbow room he had never had before! And, frankly, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, his gut looked kinda good…

He licked his lips. Y’know, soda has caffeine…