Sleepy, he yawned and rolled over. A thin stream of sunlight across his barren floor, he’s sleeping on a straw mat.
One liners and a lot of cheese, that’s what it is. Maybe it’s the cheese, that sharp cheddar cheese, going to his head, like alcohol, but no quite.
He liked Scooby-Doo, was a good show. Yeah, it was a pretty good show. Whatever happened to stuff like that? Stuff he’s starting to miss now, stuff that he had before, stuff he took for granted. Like freedom and liberty and a talking cartoon dog of yesteryear.