The Capital of Debate

He looked in the mirror. The man looking back at himself, in the mind of the beholder, looked dapper.

Orange hair, slicked back in a topknot. Face, mostly clear of any evidence of his Orange Chicken dinner from Panda Express. Shirt, just taut enough.

ftunk

doink

Well, it was just taut enough, before the third button from the top gave way and ricocheted off the bathroom mirror, leaving yet another divot in the reflective surface.

"Ugh," Felix Mullen said as he looked around his spacious 36 square-foot Brooklyn apartment for the rogue button.

"Aha!" he shouted as if a lightbulb figuratively shone over his head.

He bent down to get it and cracked his skull against the sink. One would be surprised at how easily he shook it off. It has happened before. Many times.

It will happen again.

"Ah forget it. I don't think PRIME is ready for Felix Mullen in a shirt and tie."

He scuttled out of his bathroom into the rest of his studio apartment. Thankfully, after Miranda moved out and he had to, ahem, downsize, he was able to afford a flat with its own bathroom. Rifling through the dresser, he finally found it.

"Aha!" he shouted again in revelatory delight.

It was a quarter-zip mock turtleneck. Black, because every other bit of business casual wear he owned had a stain on it. Hastily, he threw the combo jacket/turtleneck on and hurried into the bathroom.

He liked how he looked again.

"Oh yeah, this is perfect for this summit, this tete-a-tete, this..."

He furrowed his brow thinking for the right word.

"Oh yes, this detente..."

He immediately scowled, regretting his choice of words.

"No, no, French would be a faux pas for Ivan. No, we'll call it, yes, glasnost."

Cackling to himself in utter glee, Felix smiled as if he'd just gotten an extra spicy nugg in his Wendy's order. Nuggies and fries, baby. Brunner of Champions. Brunner being the word he created as an amalgamation of breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Ever since the SHOOT Project contract dried up and his podcast lost its sponsors, well, one meal a day was pushing it.

But he was determined to make this work.

"Yes, I am determined to make this work!"

We know, dickhead. I just said that.

"I am going to stand up to Ivan Stanislav, and I am going to make peace with Russia, once and for all! And I will bring back the Soviet Union, and we will show that LEFT IS BEST!"

He jumped up in the air, not knowing the washcloth from his last shower was still on the bathroom floor. He slipped on it and hit his head on the sink again.

He woke up seven hours later as the sun peeked through the minuscule window above the toilet.

"I really have to stop sleeping in here, Jesus."