"Get up Tom!' Screeched my grandmother, the smell of her smoldering cigarette burning my nostrils.

"Sure grandma." To be honest, I had been awake now for nearly thirty minutes. She does this every morning. Does she really think I could even snooze while the alarm clock she bought for me blares "O' Canada". I have really grown to hate that song. And why did she buy me a Canadian alarm clock? I'm AMERICAN!

"Well, if you don't get dressed now you wont make it to work on time." I have a very interesting predicament here. I was born in California, moved to Arizona, lived in Kentucky for awhile( all in he first five years of my life) and finally headed up to Alaska. I lived there with my parents until I was 15. And then, one really cold September day, they vanished. The police investigated it, but all they could find was a parka, a dried herring, and a scrap of paper talking about a new gameshow called "Wheel of Walrus". They never found them. So that's how I ended up here, living with my grandparents in the god forsaken town of Caliburogh in the god forsaken country of Canada at the age of twenty one.

I slip on my pants and head out the door. I slowly walk down my grandparents green shag stairs and waltz into the livingroom. My grandpa is sitting in a recliner, watching the news. Well, I guess you could call it "watching the news". It's more like taking a news-snooze My grandma's knitting some piece of crap for some person in the hospital. She doesn't really feel sorry for them. It's more of an attempt to draw attention to herself than anything. "I'll take the Lexus today grandma." I quickly yell, hoping to catch her off guard.

"Not in your life you bastard." My grandma mumbles. I really hate that women. "You'll take the van like you always do. That Lexus is mine."

I groan loudly. I hate that thing more than I hate my grandma. It is older than old, has more rust spots on it than it does paint, rattles and squeaks like a mouse caught in a trap and smelles of wet dog.

"Do I-"

"Yes." I grab my little dinky uniform hat and the keys and head out to the Crap-on-wheels van. "And make sure your little friend doesn't spill his chips all over the floor." She was refering to the fellow employee of the Caliburogh Movie Theater, Be-Bop that I pick up everyday.. No one has any clue what his real name is, or if that is his real name.

"I won't." Be-Bop's house was a good distance away from the the theater. I sound probably get going.