[ CW ] Take the last text you sent and make it the start of your story

`` Gim me 30 min'' 
 
 The alarm clock radio was blaring Beethoven's 5th. My head was rolling, screaming for hydration. A hangover had crept in at some point during my dreamless sleep and was now standing over me, flogging me in the unnatural heat of the summer morning. At 6:00 am it should n't be this humid anywhere. I gathered every ounce of gumption I could and rolled out of my bed, slapping the alarm clock until it surrendered. 
 
 Thirty minutes that I would've traded my soul for to keep sleeping through. Wandering blindly and half naked to my kitchen, I started a pot of coffee. It was muscle memory, like an athlete running a drill. The next ten minutes I spent in a lukewarm shower ( a decent 1.5 of which was spent eyes closed, mouth open facing the shower head ). I spent five drying my aching body and brushing the fangs. In the next fifteen I threw on a dirty pair of canvas paints and a clean but paint splattered white t-shirt. Jose was already sitting at my kitchen table with his Burger Boy iced coffee, scrolling through his face book. In an absurdly high pitch I hailed him `` Good morning!''. He nodded back as I pulled the carafe from the coffee maker and poured myself a cuppa. Boots on. Keys off the rack. On the road to the next job. 
 
 We where ten minutes from the job site when the statie clocked me doing 90. 
 
 Damn. 
 
 I had just lit the third cigarette of the morning. Blue lights flashed. The siren switched on. I pulled over. As the trooper approached the back of the van I ditched the butt and by the time he got to the window I had my license and registration ready. 
 
 `` Do you know how fast you where going?'' He accepted my papers and began to inspect them from behind his jet black aviators. 
 
 `` No, sorry just running behind trying to get to the job site early.'' I gave my best'all american boy trying to scrape a living from a brush and a ladder' smile. 
 
 His attention shifted from my paper work to my passenger. I'm not sure if Jose was sweating from the heat, or the hole the State Trooper's eyes must have been burning in him. 
 
 `` What about you, you have any identification?'' 
 
 Jose shook his head. In the plainest english he could muster he replied 
 `` I forgot my wallet at the house.'' 
 
 I could see the officer squint behind the tinted lenses of his glasses. 
 
 `` Yea? Well, what's your name?'' 
 
 `` Jose.'' 
 
 `` Jose? Jose what?'' 
 
 `` Martinez.'' 
 
 `` Martinez, huh? Well, turn the engine off, get comfortable, I'm gon na have to run this.'' 
 
 As the trooper walked back to his squad car I watched him speak into the radio on his chest. My heart made it's way into my thought and my stomach was in my seat. I could only Imagine what Jose was feeling. I thought about his young wife, his daughter. The 84 hours we work the previous week in the hot sun, scraping houses top to bottom with two inch blades. The American dream. Fingers crossed.
