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Description
He wouldn't have noticed at all, if it hadn't been for the fruit-loops.  Oh, fruit-loops.

see, the fruit-loops flicked through his closet door and made little 'thip' sounds as they landed on his bare chest. Mannishly falseto giggling ensued from the 3am shadows.
Thip.  Thip.

What is this - Gaw Fuck, my fruit loops.  oh shi- why's everything go crunch when I -

He sat up and tried not to hit his head on the closet fixtures.  He liked to think that he'd become a photographer some day, the type that messes with chemicals. HE would clip developing photos to the many useless bars in his alternate sleeping habitat.  But deep in his equestrian-sized heart, he knew that random strangers would come into his closet late at night and thip! some fruit loops at his works.  His art would retain delicious rainbowy markings and would take the art scene by storm, but in a fit of frustration and rage over his accidental popularity he would burn all of his negatives and portfolios.

There's no point in even trying, is there, he thought as he slid over to his loft and peered downstairs from his handy-dandy loft window.  I am a sentry in an inpenetrable fort.  I can see them, but they can't see me -

Then he realized who the home-invaders and stealers of breakfast cereal were, the people who would sabotage his already aborted career as a photographer.  The people who were passing around a water-bottle as a make-shift bong, grounding assorted cereals and crayons into his carpets, and setting his paintings on fire in the balcony barbeque.  They LOOKED like - a skinny, angry santa claus and a gaggle of tall jackasses in green tights and jingly bells.

Well, fuck, he thought, You know what this means, Gary?  This means that the central characters of Christmas lore are polar opposite during the off-season.  So those NBA rejects down there are probably elves.

This revelation was just fine for Gary, because the split second before he had looked downstairs he had felt like an eager kid peering over the stair-rail in hopes for a glimpse of Santa Claus. Those were the days.

Description
He wouldn't have noticed at all, if it hadn't been for the fruit-loops.  Oh, fruit-loops.

see, the fruit-loops flicked through his closet door and made little 'thip' sounds as they landed on his bare chest. Mannishly falseto giggling ensued from the 3am shadows.
Thip.  Thip.

What is this - Gaw Fuck, my fruit loops.  oh shi- why's everything go crunch when I -

He sat up and tried not to hit his head on the closet fixtures.  He liked to think that he'd become a photographer some day, the type that messes with chemicals. HE would clip developing photos to the many useless bars in his alternate sleeping habitat.  But deep in his equestrian-sized heart, he knew that random strangers would come into his closet late at night and thip! some fruit loops at his works.  His art would retain delicious rainbowy markings and would take the art scene by storm, but in a fit of frustration and rage over his accidental popularity he would burn all of his negatives and portfolios.

There's no point in even trying, is there, he thought as he slid over to his loft and peered downstairs from his handy-dandy loft window.  I am a sentry in an inpenetrable fort.  I can see them, but they can't see me -

Then he realized who the home-invaders and stealers of breakfast cereal were, the people who would sabotage his already aborted career as a photographer.  The people who were passing around a water-bottle as a make-shift bong, grounding assorted cereals and crayons into his carpets, and setting his paintings on fire in the balcony barbeque.  They LOOKED like - a skinny, angry santa claus and a gaggle of tall jackasses in green tights and jingly bells.

Well, fuck, he thought, You know what this means, Gary?  This means that the central characters of Christmas lore are polar opposite during the off-season.  So those NBA rejects down there are probably elves.

This revelation was just fine for Gary, because the split second before he had looked downstairs he had felt like an eager kid peering over the stair-rail in hopes for a glimpse of Santa Claus. Those were the days.