The last two paragraphs of my life. How are your two paragraphs going?

Sunday mornings where always slow. Trip out of the bedroom, just a soft step, and a yawned smile. Somewhere, behind the kitchen probably, The Doors played. Early rising neighbours fading into their 40's. Great people to have around, always able to give some advice or a cup of sugar, and their records lasted forever. You were never alone when you had Jim, Mr. Mojo Rising.

My boy was in his boxers and a shirt from the night before. He was Jim too, at least that's what I called him. He wasn't used to the noise nextdoor, wasn't used to Sundays. I told him that the neighbours probably aren't used to us and I say that with a smile. He just shrugs and throws down his toast, plain but not dry. I tell him to wipe the crumbs and saliva from his bottom lip. There's no h in wipe he says as he complies. Never noticed that I say it like before. These are the kinds of things you learn on a Sunday.