Post-Undergrad part 1

Milton was having trouble finding work, and all the ensuing trouble that generally follows a fellow who can’t seem to find his way. He had graduated from Boston University with a degree in journalism a year prior, but the idea of living a life filled with constant deadlines nauseated him. He didn’t know if he wanted to continue his education further, and he wasn’t quite living the bohemian existence that he had in his early youth so envisioned for himself.
His days generally started at around 9 am. He set his clock for 6, but when the buzzer inevitably went off he couldn’t help but groan and flail his weary arms about to shut it off and get another few hours of sleep. He would then look in the want ads. Some jobs certainly appealed to him, such as record store manager, or book store employee, but he never actually made an attempt to get such a job as a result of his own intellectual vanity.
He went jogging in the mornings. It was quite possibly the only time he enjoyed himself, and the only thing that gave him a sense of self worth. While most of his college buddies were already living a dreary existence of marriage of junk foods, he still retained an essence of youth that was most prominent in his physical appearance. He was a lean 6 feet 160 lb, and he was running miles in 5 minutes when he wanted to, as fast and healthy as he was in high school. He caught the attention of women rather easily, though he also lost the attention even more so, especially considering he was dead fucking broke.
He would eventually make his way down to the coffee shop in Cambridge and meet with his friend, Bill. They had graduated together, albeit, from different majors. Bill was into architecture, but the recession left very few people with the cash to build anything, leaving him jobless. He took a job at a local Pizzeria Regina, where the cuisine was adding an excess of fat to his waist, covering up his formerly wiry and toned torso. He noticed this more and more as the days went on, and it had been months since he had a decent lay, let alone a girlfriend.
Bill was already sitting at their usual table outside when he got there. He was drinking his favorite, a child cappuccino, and as per usual the foam was permeated throughout his thick red beard. He was reading a book on architecture with a look of loathe, as if he felt he had to read it as opposed to him actually wanting to read it.
Milton observed his friend for a moment, chucked and sat down.
“What’s on the agenda today, there, Bob?”
“Well you know, got work later, might go see that new Coen Bros movie.”
Bob went to more movies than critics, sometimes he’d even pay his money to see movies he knew he wouldn’t like, just to distract himself from his dreary and dull existence.