Peter was a nice individual.
Every day, he would get up, glance around, and contemplate what he regarded as his achievements in life. He would look out the window of his downtown apartment to ensure his beloved sports car and most prized possession was still there. He didn’t care he didn’t have a beautiful woman to drive it around town with, because he had the car. It was just another car in a big jungle of many other boxes on wheels, but for Peter, this was a car that stated: success.
Every morning, after his brew of Turkish, he would run a bath, and fill it with the most precious combination of balms and oils. He called it a ‘carefully selected skin revitalizing treatment’. He would then proceed to prepare his breakfast, a raw egg blended with tomato juice and celery.
Peter strongly believed that in order to be happy in life, one must treat oneself with the good things the world has to offer, as the body is a temple for the mind and should be respected as such. He didn’t believe in smoking, and the sight of alcohol made him sick. He didn’t understand how people could keep on damaging their bodies, when the effects were clearly stated and advertised all around.
Peter loved working, as it would keep his mind off the fact he didn’t have a social life. He would always say to people he worked too much. When he didn’t work, on the other hand, he would stay around the house, looking forward to getting back to the office.
He had been brought up to understand life as a race towards social-economic stability. But deep inside him, he knew his excessive work acted as a distraction, sometimes an excuse, for his utter dread of social gatherings of any kind.