>”You shouldn’t kiss me like this, unless you mean it like that, cuz I’ll just close my eyes and I won’t know where I’m at…”
>You raise a fist and smash it down on your alarm clock, hitting the snooze and cracking the glass cover of the LED display. You don’t even open your eyes because you had a good night that for once was without alcohol, explosions, running from the law, or watching Bill’s dumb ass trip over the first step like he did every time he got drunk.
>Something’s laying on you. Regretting this action, you open your eyes slowly and look down. Oz is fast asleep, her head on your chest. She even has a cute little snore sound. Cracking a grin that swiftly becomes a yawn, you glance at the clock. The time makes you shake your head.
“I really need a new job.”
>You reach over and turn off the alarm, and then realize the situation you now find yourself in. Considering the way she’s resting on you, there’s no real choice in the matter. You brush Oz’s mane gently.
“Wake up, Oz. It’s nine in the morning.”
>She groans softly and shakes her head. “Five more minutes.”
>You snort and grab a pillow, sliding it under her as you get out of bed. She curls around it and you shake your head. Scooping up your boxers, you pull them on with a pair of jeans. You pick up your wifebeater where you left it and your work shirt.
>It’s a simple affair; the left side has your name embroidered in white and the right side reads “Jeb’s Auto Parts” with a stock image of a gear.
>The sleeves are missing, much to Jeb’s annoyance, but sleeves never were your style. Not with guns like these.
>Call the vet, because these pythons are SICK.
>You button up and head down the hall to cook some breakfast. You’re feeling bacon and eggs, and maybe a cream cheese bagel for Oz, since she doesn’t eat meat. 
>Moments later, the bacon is crackling in the pan and you’re mixing eggs for some scrambled fun.
>The worn out toaster has a bagel toasting inside it. 
>Whoa. When did you become such a house boy?
>You ignore the thought for now, flipping the bacon around and continuing with breakfast. As you finish cooking, Oz appears in the kitchen. She blinks sleepily as you pass by, bagel on a paper plate. The smell entices her though, and she follows, sitting down in the odd little folding chair that has become her’s.
”Mornin’, Oz. Sleep well?”
>”Indeed, Anon. It was…very refreshing.”
>She blushes and looks at her meal. You set a Red Solo Cup of OJ down with the carton for her and go to grab something for yourself. You have selected…damn, you do have a lot of alcohol. Milk, OJ, Coke, and Water seem to be the only choices. Oh right, the coffee. You set up the brewer and make yourself a cup of that strong black liquid to perk you up. You make your way to your seat and prepare to indulge yourself.
>”How about you, Anon? I trust no more nightly terrors encroached upon your subconscious?”
“No. Nightmare free.”
>”That’s good.” She’s really enjoying the shit out of that bagel. 
>Breakfast passes by you two in silence, and now it’s time to go. Tossing your plastic ware into the garbage, you pick up your trusty cap and a pair of sunglasses. You also scoop up your flip phone; you had already given the number to Oz so if something happened that she needed to reach you, she could.
>You’d rather she call you then work; hard to explain to Jeb why a woman is calling his store looking for you. Even harder in this case.
>Grabbing your keys off the key hook, you look down to see Oz looking up at you. You sigh and squat down so you’re face to face with the pony. She looks a little nervous about you leaving for work, which…strikes you as odd, somehow. It’s your job. Why should she be worried?
>You ruffle her mane gently, and she tilts her head into your hand.
“I’ll be back by six-thirty. There’s plenty of food so don’t feel like you need to wait for me to come home eat. If you want to go look around outside, that’s fine, just keep out the shed. Watch out for the local wildlife; they don’t talk or do magic.”
>You flick her horn and smirk. She giggles and then hugs you, wrapping her fore hooves around you. You hug her back.
>”Don’t be late. I have an internal clock so I can tell when you are running later then you say you were.”
>Jeez, she’s worse than a nagging wife.
>You chuckle and stand up, headed outside. It’s a bright sunny day in the backwoods so your shades come on swiftly. Making your way around the truck, you open the cab and start up the engine, letting it warm up before you take off.
>Oz waves from the doorway as you set off for work. 
~~~~~
>You are now working Anon.
>It’s another slow day. Of course, every day is a slow day when you’re working at a specific specialty store in a small town. The locals are business enough to keep you running, and out of the quad-town district, you’re the only one that stocks a few certain brands which means if they need that part, they’re coming to you. 
>You yawn as Mr. Maxwell leaves the store with a few quarts of motor oil and an oil filter for some Dodge piece of shit he’s trying to restore. The store is deserted except for Jeb, your boss, and Cletus, who is currently attempting to get the radio to play the good country station. Jeb is in the back doing “reports”. You have long since assumed he’s back there spanking it and sleeping.
>As the old man drives away, you flip idly through a new magazine about lifted trucks. You have long pondered a lift kit for your truck surpassing the height you currently have your old jalopy at, but the price makes you balk.
>”GODDAMNIT!” Clet smashes the radio with a monkey wrench and it sparks dangerously. They’ve had this fight for three weeks now. After the events with your iPhone, you half-wonder if there’s a pony hidden in there too. You sigh and put down the magazine.
“Clet, what the hell did that radio ever do to you?”
>”It ain’t playin’ the goddamn station!” He glares at the radio which hisses at him.
“Try turning that knob to the right.”
>”The what now?”
“The knob on the center of the radio. Turn it to the right about a hair.”
>He does, and low and behold! The classic voice of Alan Jackson comes in crystal clear. “Ah’ll be damned!”
“Me too.”
>You snort and return to the magazine. Now that the radio is working, Clet goes to do the inventory like he was supposed to have been doing. Now that he’s gone, you’re alone on the floor, and can think with some peace.
>So, you had sex with a pony that’s also your iPhone’s operating system. 
>You’re not quite sure how to continue that train of thought. I mean, where do you go from there?
>You decide to search your feelings. You may have moved rather fast. Shit, you didn’t even sleep with-
>Not that road. But still. You did care for the pony. As a friend, so did that make you…friends with benefits? And how the hell did she know about kissing and sex? Something told you there was going to be some awkward searches on your browsing history when you got home. Not that it wasn’t any good…
>You sit on a stool and swing a foot in thought.
>So, she cared for you, that much was clear. Was it because you were the only person she had met? Or did she genuinely have feelings? Yeah, you had shared a lot of emotions within a short time span, and that may have been a good thing…or a bad thing. You’d have to see. 
>With a sigh, you look up as the door opens, a bell tinkling dully. It’s Mark, the busboy at the one restaurant in this town. You give a nod and clear your throat.
“Let me guess…you finally lost your exhaust?”
>”Eeyup. Fell off back at Smalltown and I need a new carburetor.”
>You sigh, shaking your head. That wasn’t even the right part, but whatever. Getting up, you give a small shrug, leading him to the back of the store where Jeb kept the junkyard.
“Come on. 1969 Ford Mustang, right?”
>You'd have to think about your mare problems later. Right now, you actually had to do your job, which at this moment meant you'd be helping this idiot find a new exhaust pipe and whatever else that junked car of his needed to get back home.