<div class="floatright">(http://media-cache-cd0.pinimg.com/236x/93/06/4d/93064d2379ba945556b7c0f618d79e72.jpg)</div>Saturday mornings were the best. It meant Lawrence didn't have to get up early. He could sleep in and enjoy the morning, baking in his bed, which had a window facing the morning sun, so he would slowly warm up as the sun rose, like a cat sprawled out in his king-sized bed. Normally he'd have things booked for the weekend, but this weekend was a vacation, no assignments from the newspaper other than the play he'd covered last night, and he'd already written and filed his review of the play. It was already in the hands of the locals anyway, having run in the morning edition. Lawrence was the arts & entertainment editor for the town, only about an hour outside of a major metropolis, but the town was a nice little college town, and the majority of the people who lived in the town were either students, teachers, faculty or businesses that supported the college, with a seemingly endless number of diners and liquor stores. But hey, it was a college town.<br/><br/>Still, Lawrence knew he couldn't stay in bed forever. His cell phone on the nightstand next to him was blaring an alarm, letting him know that he'd slept more than enough. He reached over and swiped his fingertip across the screen, turning it off. "Alright already," he muttered. He'd been out a bit later than usual the night before, ending up drinking with a couple of guys from the newspaper after he'd filed his review, and he should've known by now that when the news desk chief is drinking, trying to keep up with him was going to be a bad idea. Still, he'd slept enough that he didn't have much of a hangover. He'd live.<br/><br/>Lawrence crawled out of bed and hopped into the shower, his brown hair slicked back. He kept in good shape, making sure to get a five mile run in every morning. A number of the students would wave when they'd see him out jogging and he usually offered a small wave back at them. But it was Saturday and he didn't run on the weekends. He dried himself off and smiled at Schrodinger, his tiny russian blue cat, who was rubbing against his leg. His apartment wasn't huge, but it was still decently sized, two stories, with the bedroom and his writing loft/library on the second floor, and the living room and the kitchen on the ground floor. As he stepped back into his bedroom, he grabbed his change of clothes from his bed, hearing a heavy truck pull up to the apartment building. Oh, that was right - classes were starting up in a couple of weeks, which meant he should expect a number of people moving into the complex. All the graduates had moved out months ago, and the apartment complex was generally kind of quiet during the summer, although there were still a good number of students taking classes, so it wasn't entirely deserted.<br/><br/>He pulled on a t-shirt with a Playbill of Tom Stoppard's "Rosencranz and Guildenstern Are Dead" on the front of it, then his jeans, buckling up the belt, then tossing on his socks and shoes. He headed downstairs and could hear the rental people doing a walkthrough next door as he poured himself a cup of pineapple juice, sipping it down while the kitten mewled at him. He crouched down to rub his ears, and the cat purred in response. "Attention whore," he said with a smirk. He finished the juice off and put the glass into his dishwasher before he picked up his keys. He could hear the landlord closing the door as he started heading out his door. He bumped into her on his way out, not locking his door behind him. He was just running down to grab the paper and his mail. "New tennants Jessie?" he asked her. "Yep," she said. "Couple of girls starting classes next month. Thought they move in early. I'm sure you'll see them around." He nodded as the landlord headed off, and he headed down to the mailbox. As he started walking back up to his apartment, he could see the apartment door next to his open, two forms heading out. "Howdy neighbors!" he said, offering them a wave.