The cat extends her neck, E.T. like, to smell the taste of sleep in my mouth, and, while she doesn't exactly recoil, it seems to give her a lot to think about. Half-awake, I suck down the rest of the water from my bedside table bottle, and it cuts the muck on my tongue with a flavor of old plastic.
Breakfast is tart yogurt, with sweet berry preserves and the nutty crunch of flax seeds, chased with an almost overripe banana that I could have eaten without any teeth.
As I step out the door, I pop a single tab of gum, crushing through the sugary shell to the cold, chewy, chemical mint at the center, but it quickly fades to flavorless goo.