Lentil Soup for the monotonous soul

M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him) views the distant hills with suspicion as the slant rays of a golden evening cast sinister shadows in the deep folds on the hillside. The summer has parched the grass to a dull dusty color (this is one way of avoiding having to state any color, in case you are color blind) and the hills look like they could do with some water. In these parts, the days are deceptively warm. The heat of afternoon might seem like the precursor to a warm night, but with the melting of the sun comes the chill of a desert night.

M is now bored. The caffeine he had at 7 pm is keeping him wide awake.

M: "Dimwits! Where's the f***ing wine?"

aide: "Terribly sorry sire, but you asked not to buy any."

M: "Oh, did I?."

aide: "Yes, senor M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him). I would have personally bought some now, since you seem to want some, but all the stores are closed for business, sire, being a Sunday night."

M switches off his sixty-inch plasma TV, mountains, slanting light, melting sun, desert and all, and tries to go to sleep with a caffeine buzz so he can wake up bright and early to start the week.