Still lounging on the recliner, its cosseting comfort had lulled him into a nap, though not a very long one. Neither his Xbox nor the TV were ever turned on, which probably contributed to his dozing off. Peace and quiet tended to have that effect on him. Paul noted where he’d left off in the motorcycle racing magazine and placed it on the table next to the recliner.<br/><br/>He felt he was awake and functioning from his unplanned slumber, though he’d yet to remove his carcass from the comfortable chair. Charlette soon appeared in the living room, wearing a tank and yoga pants.<br/><br/><i>Stand down, Old Man. Charlette wearing yoga pants does not translate to ATTACK! You and that jiggle.</i><br/><br/>"Are you hungry?” she asked. “I could eat."<br/><br/><i>I say again. Stand down, Old Man. She’s talking about food this time. hehe-cough-hehe</i><br/><br/>Man, what a fuckin’ dick, Paul thought, though admittedly amused.<br/><br/>It took a moment for comprehension to settle in. “Well, that’s good to hear, Charlette,” he said enthusiastically. “Lemme get that pot of water going for the pasta then. I still gotta shape those meatballs, too,” Paul informed her. “And that bread’s good to go as is. It’s in that brown wrap near the oven. Lemme slice it up, too.”<br/><br/>The recliner was soon deserted.