Ambrose sat in the cafeteria, the normal hustle and/or bustle passing him by. His head hung low over his plate of food, a meager breakfast by any standards. Of course, he really wasn't interested in the food. His eyes fluttered close and snapped open in a cycle every few seconds. God, he needed more sleep. He was tired of...well, being tired. It was a constant drain on pretty much everything. Perhaps he should see some form of psychiatrist or psychologist, or...wait, were they the same thing? Gah, this is the kind of thing that happened when he was tired.
Ambrose would sit up and poke at the food on his plate, and grimace. Maybe some lively interaction or happening would awaken him the rest of the way.
Ambrose would sit up and poke at the food on his plate, and grimace. Maybe some lively interaction or happening would awaken him the rest of the way.