The sunlight cutting through the blinds felt less like a greeting and more like an accusation. Jake sat up, his back emitting a series of pops that sounded like dry kindling. As he swung his legs over the side of the bed, he caught his reflection in the full-length mirror—and stopped.
He stood up, turning to the side. There it was. A subtle, soft curve where there used to be a flat plane.
'Huh? When did that happen?" he wondered, prodding the slight accumulation of "success" around his waist. 'I'm building a fortune, but I'm doing it in a body that's starting to look like a soft-boiled egg. Nah, let'sdo something about this.'
He dropped to the floor, the carpet rough against his palms. 'Twenty-five,' he told himself. 'Just a quick set of twenty-five to wake up.'
