New York's weather was far better than Gotham's. Even though it was already winter, the skies remained clear, and from the third-floor window of the clinic, the heavy traffic on the highway beyond the skyline was still plainly visible.
Schiller got up early. Pikachu pushed the door open with his tiny little arms, then stretched and said, "That damned old-fashioned kettle of yours is way too loud! Yawn... Where did you even get such an antique?"
As Schiller went downstairs, Pikachu slid down the banister. By the time they reached the dining room on the second floor, the kettle was steaming away, letting out a sharp whistle every so often.
Schiller levitated the kettle with magic and set it on the table. With another wave of his hand, a frying pan flew over. He poured in some olive oil and began making breakfast.
Pikachu flung open the refrigerator with a bang and climbed inside to rummage for food. As he searched, he complained, "I really ought to throw out all this damned blue cheese of yours. How can it smell this bad?! Oh... and this awful lettuce. Eating it is like chewing plastic. Let's see... Here it is! My shredded cheese! Put it in my breakfast sandwich later, and this canned luncheon meat I love too. Slice it up and put it in the middle. Remember, make the slices thick..."
Just then, the clinic's front door downstairs opened. Schiller heard Peter's voice coming up with the sound of footsteps. "Sir! I'm here! I borrowed a toolbox from my uncle. I'll definitely fix that damned breaker today..."
As soon as he came upstairs, the open refrigerator door happened to block his view. He casually waved a hand and shut it, followed by a thud and a scream. "Oh! Shit!! My waist!!!"