The soft taps of his high performance running shoes echoed through the early-morning, misty streets. With each step, each breath, Eric’s mind became more alert and ready for the day. This was his nirvana. A black cat slinked across the driveway to his right and arched its back with a hiss as the intruder pitter-pattered by. The hum of the streetlights was one of the many reminders that he was up at an un-Godly hour: it was so dark out he had to wear reflective clothing to warn the stray car or two that he was not just part of the night.
As Eric rounded the last corner of his seven-mile run, catching a glimpse of his house, he quickened the pace. With each step he gained momentum until he was at an all-out sprint to the finish line that was a fresh pot of coffee and the morning paper. The sweat that had been beading up for the last two miles flew into the air to join the mist; Eric’s hair was now wiped back along the top of his head. Mail boxes flew by, but his mind began to slow down. This was the best part of his day, and he hadn’t even showered yet. The euphoria awaiting Eric’s muscles at his driveway would greet his hyperactive mind like a cold and hot front colliding: sending lightning bolts of sensation through his body, causing Eric to breathe and think deeply at the same time.
The pulsing tail of his panting dog was beating against Eric’s leg as he prepared the coffee. This was their routine. Tabasco stretched and explored the house while Eric ran, but was always ready to be let out just before Eric was available. They had been together for eight years: dog and bachelor. Eric had dated several women, none of whom had worked out, and Tabasco had been, well, more than a dog. Tabasco roamed the yard for unfortunate lame squirrels while Eric showered and shaved. He was then off to work after getting dressed and bringing Tabasco back in for the day. The dog would paw at the door, every day, when Eric left. It was fruitless, and they both knew it, but something in each of them longed for Tabasco’s objections to the daily “imprisonment”.
“Goooood morning Portland! It’s 7:35 on this glorious Thursday morning, and here is your weather update!”.
The disc jockey had been awake far too long, and was far too peppy for this early. Eric had run, showered, and drunk coffee, and was still not awake enough for this guy. He rolled the windows down and switched to a CD, MGMT’s Oracular Spectacular, to truly wake up. His purposely unkempt hair flapped happily in the breeze. This was his morning routine, and it had served Eric well. No surprises, no epic adventures or mishaps – just a man, his dog, and his job.
--
“Hey Dunbar! You lazy sack of crap do you have those sales numbers from last week yet or what?!
Eric half-jumped from his mid-afternoon nap and hastily wiped the sleep from his eyes, coughed his vocal chords awake, and looked up, replying “Oh um, yessir, they’re right here, I’m just in the process of finalizing…” he was cut short by the sight of Brian Bestfriend, and not Mr. Unreasonable Boss, who Eric was expecting.
“Oh damn, Brian! You scared the crap out of me,” Eric exclaimed as he fiddled with his hair, slightly shuddering with the remnants of nervousness.
“Eric, why do you always freak out with Boss comes by? You’ve been at this company for seven years and never slipped up! These reports won’t mean anything until the fall anyways. Relax dude.”
Brian gave Eric a friendly, slightly annoying punch on the arm and left. The two enjoyed playful, somewhat immature relationship at work that was comparable to two high school boys always trying to get each other in trouble. Except with Eric and Brian, the goal was to make the other “freak out” about getting in trouble. The truth was, Brian was much better at it than Eric, because the latter was very uptight about his job and following the rules.
Eric Dunbar was a sales consultant and marketing associate for the Portland Trailblazers. He was hired right out of college, where he had received a double major in Journalism and Marketing. He was putting his talents to surprisingly good use, being that this was his first job with a college degree. Eric led a small group in charge of researching and producing reports on ticket sales and fans’ response to various marketing techniques. Eric reported directly to the team’s Marketing Director, who was always under tremendous pressure from the owners to increase ticket sales.
Even with all of his success, Eric couldn’t get settled down, he couldn’t get comfortable enough to make a mistake without fear of being fired, even after six years of not being fired. He tried to explain it more to Brian that night at the bar.
“Ok first of all, let me stop you before you begin, Eric.” Brian looked down disappointingly at his hot wings and nursed a sip of his beer. “Why in the hell would you suggest these? I’ve had better food from my nephew who gets a little too serious with his Play-Doh.”
Eric rolled his eyes and retorted, “Look man, ok? I’m trying to get serious here for once. You’re my best friend at work, so can we actually talk about work for a second?” Eric came off a little more desperate than he wanted, but this really was serious. He had stayed up half the night worrying over whether or not this was truly his “career”, or if it was time for something new.
“Ok, ok,” eased Brian. He rested his hands knowingly on the table and gave Eric his full attention. “What’s wrong, man,” Brian asked.
“It’s just that I was already thinking about what Mr. Boss brought up today, and when he mentioned it, I really started freaking out,” Eric explained.
Brian stifled a laugh, the way one does when they’re trying to save another some embarrassment, and finished his beer. He looked up at Eric with almost comical eyes and urged him, “Look, that sexual harassment suit was months ago and I promise not to tell…”
“Oh shut the hell up will you grow up!?” And then Eric had to laugh. Brian knew how to lighten Eric’s mood, even before the somber tone had been set.
“No look, Brian, for real this time. I’m having second thoughts about my career, if you could even say I have one, and something you said today made me think.”
Saying it out loud was relieving. It was easing the stress on Eric of thinking over it and saying it repeatedly in his head for weeks. Eric was unhappy with his career path, and wanted, no, needed, another one.
Brian Bestfriend was a perfect friend for Eric Dunbar that night. He listened, chimed in when invited or to fill the silence, and paid for his friend’s tab after a long day. Even so, when Eric half-drunkenly stumbled in the door of his single-bedroom apartment that night and Brian’s cab pulled away, confusion and desperation sat in. Eric could not convince himself that he was just being foolish, nor could he summon up the courage to even entertain the idea of quitting his job. He went to bed that night with a glass of water, two ibuprofen, and a head full of ideas, dreams, and concerns.
--
“Mr. Harrison, I want to thank you for hiring me and supporting me for the last six years. It’s been an honor to work for you and this team, but I can no longer, in good conscience, come in to work under the assumption that I will do my job to the best of my ability.”
Eric used air quotes to emphasize the last phrase, and hoped they had not come off as sarcastic and disrespectful. They had.
“Well now Dunbar you must think you’re pretty special huh? You think you settled for this job,” Harrison jeered, imitating Eric’s air quotes, “and now after six LONG years, you’re just ready to up and leave, and go write the next great American novel, or some shit like that. Do I have that about right?”
Well, no, not exactly. Eric began to tune out Harrison’s rant and looked around the room. A CD case on the bookshelf flashed him back to a music festival in college. A rusty license plate mounted on the wall caused Eric to recall a particularly memorable road trip a few years back. Then, a journal on Walt Harrison’s desk caused the largest sensation of nostalgia yet. Eric could see short stories and essay’s he had written as a teenager. More memories, more vivid, almost tangible memories came from his passion for writing than anything else, even more than his...
“…family. A part of our family, Eric, is what we’ll be losing. Are you telling me you’re going to leave this company in this way to be some writer?” Walt finished his last sentence with a smirk, folded his arms like a child, and waited for Eric to reply to the monologue they both knew he had not been listening to.
Yet, Eric did something unexpected and, for once, risky.
“Yes sir. I’m quitting my job here with the Trailblazers to pursue my passion: writing. Look for me at Barnes and Noble.”
With that, Eric Dunbar took the first step toward the rest of his life. He turned around, had the strongest urge to apologize and beg for his job back, ignored that urge, and marched through the door. He did not waiver as he walked right by Unreasonable Boss, un-tucking his shirt and flipping Boss the bird (in his mind) as he did so. He could tell Brian’s office was empty before he reached it, so Eric sent him a text message saying only “outside, now” and preceded to the nearest exit, never once breaking stride or his poker face.
The breath of cool Portland air hit him like an Ali punch and caused the now-ex-marketing-associate to breathe deeply and launched him into an uncontrollable panic.
“I just quit my job. Holy shit, I just quit my job. With no prospects and very little money, I just walked out on six years without a second thought,” he said to the parking lot of BMW’s and Mercedes.
“Well good for you buddy. ‘Bout damn time.” There was Brian, standing just outside the door that Eric had just stormed out of, smiling from ear to ear.
Most of the grammar issues that caught my attention have already been addressed, so I'll try not to waste your time by repeated anything. 
Overall, you might experiment with showing us Eric's emotions through his actions instead of telling them to us either through narration or dialogue.
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