The follow morning, Miles woke up, having mostly forgotten his prophetic dream. He was still a bit hungover from last night's bender, and it didn't even register to him at all that he now had a mop of red hair to take care of instead of his short, shaggy brown hair.
His eyes half awake and covered in crust, he stepped into the bathroom and took a shower, absentmindedly lathering it with shampoo and conditioner. When he was finished, he stepped out of the shower and brushed his teeth, not noticing that the toothbrush handle had turned pink.
Miles then went back into his bedroom and got dressed for the day. He was pondering the upcoming yet brief breakfast where he wouldn't look in Mom's direction for even a single moment, and then he would head off to school to hang with his buddy Victor Mattingly. Maybe they could both go to a party later tonight and get fucked up if Miles was in the mood.
Miles got dressed, not noticing how he now had to pull his long locks from out of his shirt while putting it on. He puts on his underwear, his jeans, and finally, his sneakers. He laced them up and descended the staircase.
The last thing before leaving this hellhole and embarking to another hellhole known as P.S 167? Breakfast of champions, AKA: A bowl of Count Chocula.