Mo is waking up...
Presented by
Mo
Every morning, the same story... It's still dark. I'm comfortable. And then... that thing goes off.
This is my housemate Lars, 21 years old. We live in Panningen.
There he goes again. IL FIORE, that's what the place is called. Every. Single. Day.
Used to be football until he was 18, now it's bench presses and protein shakes. Respect, honestly.
I stay sharp too... chasing flies, climbing curtains, the usual. We're both athletes. He just needs a building for it.
After the sweating comes the staring. Hours. At that glowing thing. He calls it 'web design'.
Figma this, Framer that, Premiere Pro blah blah blah. I try to help by walking across the keyboard and sitting on the mouse.
He doesn't appreciate it. But fine... he did start his own business with it. At 20. Okay, pretty impressive.
And THEN. Then there's that one day. That smell.
Grandma's drumsticks. From dad's side, apparently that's important. I smell them before he does — obviously, I'm faster.
Lars gets so happy. I get so happy. But I'm not allowed to touch them. Me. The one with the superior nose.
Unfair? Absolutely. But I'll forgive him. Just this once.
Sometimes he disappears. 'Vacation' they call it.
Italy is the favorite, though I don't understand why anyone would voluntarily get on a plane.
Now he's dreaming of Canada. Big forests, big lakes — okay, that does sound interesting.
I'd explore the whole thing in a day. He'd probably need a week.
Okay. He's busy. He's loud. He sometimes smells like the gym.
But between you and me... he's the only one who can keep up. Almost.
This was Lars.
Presented by me.
The faster, smarter, and better-looking half of this household.