![]() Zed woke up protesting something about going to school. The dogs were settling down again, the scrap of jerky so trampled in the muddy grass that they both realized it wasn’t really worth fighting over anymore. ![]() ![]() Zed snored on and off until Sweetchuck hit his arm. Thoughts like that were why he couldn’t sleep. Sweetchuck groaned and pushed himself up to sit against the tree. His left leg was cold and his right leg was sweltering where it was right next to Zed, in just shorts and a sleeveless shirt, radiating heat like it was his job and he had been manufactured according to the latest health and safety standards in whatever factory they make radiators in. Sweetchuck’s brain was running too fast for him to keep his eyes closed for very long at all, watching the dogs, feeling the dampness of the lawn slowly seep into his pajamas. ![]() And it wasn’t like the grass was very comfortable to sleep on anyways Sweetchuck missed his bed– not the academy one, but his bed at home, his good old tempurpedic mattress and the four pillows he kept surrounding him, not because he was a lonely person or whatever the magazine headlines he saw in the grocery store said, but because it was practical, keeping him from rolling out of bed, keeping his body positioned at the perfect angle to prevent any aches in the morning. For one, the dogs had to be amped up every few dozen minutes, and once Zed ran out of the jerky he kept in his pockets to make them fight for scraps, the whole operation sort of fell apart. They didn’t sleep well that night, as expected, even with the dogs running around with the flashlights. ![]()
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