By 4 o'clock, Tristan felt a bit more like a human. He had downed four Tylenol pills, taken a cold shower, drunk a whole pot of coffee, and slept for a couple of hours. He was dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a Linkin Park T-shirt, trying to decide if he wanted to head to McDonald's or hit the supermarket for some groceries.<br/><br/>He had discovered, with some surprise, that he was a pretty decent cook. Eating ramen noodles every night during his freshman year hadn't appealed to him, and in desperation he had picked up some pans and a large cookbook over the summer. Now he was cooking regularly, which helped his pocketbook and his stomach. Grease and fat just weren't very appetizing.<br/><br/>"Guess it's groceries," Tristan said out loud. His stomach rumbled in agreement. Soon enough he was wandering the aisles of the local market, trying to remember where baking powder was. He planned to cook a large meal for his parents.