The cold breeze woke the tired Karl Marx, pouring through his open bedside window. He’s always had many thoughts, but at this point in the morning, he felt nothing but the human desire for food and drink. It was a crisp morning in 1853, he lifted himself out of his creaky steel bed with his massive, muscled arms. He gazed about his apartment, a decrepit mess of architecture, clearly a building made for the poverty-stricken city of Trier. He could see it on the streets, and he sighed. He saw the poor and homeless of his city milling about on the street, making their way to their workplaces. He had a different idea of the working class, one where everyone worked in harmony, work would be good and just for the glory of the nation. He couldn't help but wonder if his dreams would come to fruition.
He decided he would rather go out for breakfast, rather than breaking his teeth on his stale bread. Rummaging through his wardrobe, he found his old overcoat and a set of clothes. He recalled the memories of him wearing that overcoat, when he beat a mugger to unconsciousness. The blood was still fresh in his mind, he still felt that rush of bludgeoning the boy with his fists, the boy's jaw dislocating, the visceral shattering of bone, perhaps he was too rough. He decided not to wear that overcoat, instead leaving his apartment in his regular clothes. Karl was a titan of a man, muscled to every part of his body. There was nothing he couldn’t do physically, he was one might consider as the perfect specimen. As people brushed by him on the street, he couldn’t help but shove them out of the way. He didn’t like contact, not after the mugging incident. He shoved over policemen, women with babies, anyone that encountered him. There was nothing but cries of anguish in his wake.
After walking quite some distance, he found what he was looking for. His favorite breakfast place in all of Trier: Diner. They weren’t that creative with the naming of stores and restaurants in Prussia. He strode in through the doorway, almost knocking the door frame ajar. Everyone turned to meet his gaze, and they knew *he* was there. They immediately resumed eating, they didn’t want to upset Karl for fear that he’d send them through the diner windows. He told the man behind the diner desk “I will have usual.” The man understood and dashed for the kitchen entrance. The waiters at the diner make sure to prepare Karl’s meal beforehand, since they know what could happen if he’s left waiting. Karl was given his food, and he sat and pondered. He considered how he could make life better for the people of his hometown, but he struggled to grasp that there was no way to save Trier. It was a dying city. Prussia was dying. He knew it in his heart.
