Chapter Text
The alarm goes off at 6AM, just like it always has for the past three fucking decades. And the soft, cozy bed is just as inviting as it always has been. Hank rolls out of it anyway, like he always has for the past three fucking decades.
It’s the same fucking shit over and over again. Go to bed way too fucking late and way too fucking drunk, and get up way too fucking early and way too fucking hungover. He makes his way to the bathroom to take a fat dump and splash some cold water on his unkept face. He stopped looking at himself in the mirror ages ago. It never gets better, no reason to keep checking.
He steps out of the bathroom and his dog greets him in the hallway. A big, hairy, drooling Saint Bernard. His only companion in this shithole of a house.
“Good boy,” Hank tells the dog affectionately as he scratches him on his head. “You’re a good boy Sumo. Did you sleep well?” Sumo woofs in response.
He drags himself back to the bedroom, and picks up some clothes from The Pile™. After a quick sniff test, he puts on whatever. Not like it matters. Neither his colleagues or the perps care what he looks like. He isn’t getting paid to be pretty. Same reason he doesn’t bother shaving regularly. His golden rule has been the same for decades: so long as his moustache is not in his mouth, shaving can wait.
Freshly dressed, he makes his way to the kitchen to fill Sumo’s bowl with some kibble and to grab a quick coffee for himself. That shitty machine in the break room makes shit coffee with the shit beans. The precinct cuts costs everywhere they can, including the workforce’s lifeline. They barely ever get milk in the break room fridge, and when they do, it goes quickly. Which is a shame, as Hanks prefers his with full fat milk. As if the amount of caffeine he consumes daily isn’t a concern on its own.
He flicks the machine on and grabs yesterday’s unwashed cup. Same thing goes in it every day, why waste time cleaning it, eh? He shovels some sugar in it, and goes to grab the milk while the coffee is dripping. He pops the fridge open, and the light inside is off. Fuck. He grabs the milk bottle and it is suspiciously not cold. FUCK.
He shouldn’t be surprised, the fridge came with the house, and he bought that just the year after he became a beat cop at the DPD. An ancient hunk of metal like this would cost way too much to be worth repairing. Not to mention the likelihood of spare parts still existing somewhere out there is most likely nearing zero. So a new fridge it is. FUCK.
Whatever, he’ll bitch about it after his shift.
Work is so uninteresting and uneventful that it isn’t even worth going into it. The break room coffee is shit as always, and the milk they got supplied just two days ago is long gone. Bitter, milkless coffee it is for poor Hank.
He spends his lunchbreak at the Chicken Feed, he feels he deserves a little treat today. And coffee with milk. As he is leaning against the sun bleached plastic table, burger sauce and grease dripping down one hand, his other hand is browsing his phone. MalWart has a deal on this “smart fridge”. What the fuck. Since when does MalWart sell fridges? And what makes a fridge smart?? Fuck knows, but it’s cheap as fuck. Hank hits the oversized “BUY NOW” button, and spends an extra 50 bucks for next day delivery. No fucking way we’ll be coffeeless for more than two mornings.
And just like that, the money leaves his bank account, he gets the confirmation email from the store, and realizes he forgot to check if the new fridge will fit his kitchen. Fuck.
Whatever, he’ll worry about that tomorrow.
After getting home from work, he spends the night emptying the broken fridge, binning everything from it. What a waste of fucking money. He wanted to have that leftover pizza for dinner. Even the freezer went bust, leaking all over the floor. His trash can is now full of rotting food, the puddle will be mopped up later, when Hank can be fucked. Right now he’d much rather dig into the freshly delivered, succulent Chinese meal that is sitting on his coffee table. Because who the fuck eats at a dinner table when you can sit on your couch with your dog and watch tv at the same time?
Food is just as good as it smells, and it goes down a treat, with some room temp beer to wash it down. The empty takeout box joins the rest on top of the ever growing pile in his kitchen bin, the fact that it doesn’t just roll down and drop to the floor is incredible in its own right. Hank gathers some willpower to grab the mop and clean up the freezer puddle. He can now drag the old fridge to the curb. No fucking way he’ll pay even more to have it removed. Some poor sod will pick it up and sell it for scraps. He knows he’ll pull a muscle moving the piece of shit, and sure enough he does. That’s gonna be painful tomorrow.
He pads back inside the house, groaning and grunting, hand on his lower back, like a fucking pensioner. Oh how low he stooped. Looking down where the fridge once stood, the floor is absolutely disgustingly filthy with three decades worth of dust, spilled rotting whatever, and god knows what alien life form. He pulls his mouth in disgust, he’ll bother with that shit tomorrow, when his back is hopefully not as painful. He knows Sumo won’t touch it, the old bastard is surprisingly fussy when it comes to grime.
Hank takes a quick shower and skips shaving again. He still has some time before he starts chewing on his moustache. He feels fancy, so he picks up an actually clean pair of underwear and an only slightly worn out t-shirt. He collapses onto the bed like a log, and falls asleep immediately.