Jeremy Stevenson, 25 years old and single in case you ladies where wondering, strolled down the dairy aisle, Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" playing on his iPhone through the skull candy head phones on his head.  As the main DJ of the towns only radio station, located on Broadway, Jeremy lived music.  Genre didn't matter much to him, if it was good chances are you would here it at some time of day during one of the many segments.  As he grabbed his eggs and put it in his basket, the music switched to "Feel Good Inc." by Gorrilaz, and Jeremy started bobbing his head as he walked towards the meat section.<br/><br/>The butcher, Mr. Star or something like that, nodded at Jeremy.  The two of them were both in a kendo class together, Jeremy's newest hobby.  He was basically a Swiss Army knife of abandoned interests and hobbies, everything from cooking and knitting to snowboarding and mountain climbing.  If there is a class or club for it, chances are Jeremy tried it at one point or another.<br/><br/>Nodding back at Mr. Star, Jeremy started to scan the selection of meat when Mr. Star asked him about his outfit.<br/>"So, Jeremy, what's up with the outfit?  Please don't tell me this is what people where these days."<br/>Looking down at his threads, Jeremy suddenly suddenly became very conscious that he had an image to keep up.  He was wearing an old pair of loose jogging pants, black, a slightly ripped Pink Floyd t shirt, which was a little to big for his somewhat wiry build, and a Hornets beanie, the least stylish of his many, many hats.<br/>"I wasn't planning on leaving the studio today, but the electric storm is messing with the equipment so I offered to go grab lunch while the tech guys fix stuff."  It wasn't far from the truth, minus the fact that he technically was the tech boys, he was just doing a long delayed shopping trip while he waited for the equipment to reboot.<br/><br/>"You can keep your faith in modern fashion, this is just me wearing the first comfortable thing I could find today.  I'm not the best specimen of fashion anyways."  Definitely true.  Usually Jeremy would wear a pair of jeans, a less ripped and more form flattering band shirt, and a maybe a fedora or one of his other beanies.  He needed to get out more.<br/><br/>"I'll keep it then, tell your old man I said hi."  Mr. Star said as Jeremy walked away with his pork slices.  Harold Stevenson, Jeremy's old man was a well respected member of the community.  An old war vet, he was the last WWII soldier in town, and he had become the archetypical wise old guy with his many years of knowledge.  Jeremy loved his dad, he was his greatest supporter. No matter what Jeremy did, even if it was pointless and he's totally give it up in a few weeks, dad never cared.  As long as Jeremy had his freedom and came to visit him, he was happy.  And Jeremy was happy right along with him.<br/><br/>Walking towards the check out, Jeremy looked down at his basket and mentally smacked himself in the face.  He had forgotten the milk.  Walking back to the dairy, Jeremy saw Derek and smiled to himself.  Derek was an old friend, his buddy on the football team, his 'big friendly giant' who kept Jeremy from getting his lights busted when he butted wits with the popular kids at high school, which happened often.  Still does, but now it's over the radio for everyone's entertainment, so busting his lights would be assault.  Which Derek, since he's a police officer now, enforces.  Crap, he's still stopping Jeremy's lights from getting busted.  That's friendship for you.<br/><br/>"Hey Derek!  It's been a while since I've seen you.  What are you doing right know?  Patrolling the eggs?"  Jeremy said, taking his head phones off as he came up on Derek's right.  This kind of sarcastic greeting was not unusual.  Jeremy considered it enduring.  Others considered it obnoxious or 'punchable'.  And that's not even a proper word!