Format the following passage properly, for storytelling purposes. Keep it as written, don't change a single word, but improve grammar where necessary.

Three minutes to 5:30am. A bitter flavor of halitosis resides on my tongue, soon to be repressed--if not eradicated--with the arrival of a new breakfast. I have made sure to uncheck the "Delete cookies and site data when Mypal is closed" button, and combined with selective history removal (that retains the cookies and active logins), I've found a method that seems foolproof to ensure I can keep myself logged in as long as possible on a single bypass code entry. Once that cookie expires, I will have to use my third of five maximum logins, presuming that is indeed the total allotment. I am hoping to put off having to get a new bypass code as long as possible, so as not for the people working the desk to wonder "who is this guy? And why does he call us every couple of days?" Instead, they can wonder "who is this guy? And why does he call us once a week?" I have slightly more of an excuse with the latter. The same ensemble I've been wearing since Friday afternoon now adorns my body: a 4XL white T-shirt, a pair of red shorts, and mismatched Crocs (one a blue-green hue, the other a red-yellow, but both size 12). The ceiling fan steadily spins overhead; an attentive ear will notice the faint mechanical hums of the mechanisms driving its movement. I've made it through another night, and somehow feel a little bit more refreshed than normal. Being without a phone seems to have its advantages. It is a lifestyle I could get used to, especially knowing that I've been granted access to the wireless phones here at the Joshua House. I paid more attention to the benefits yesterday, when we were taken on a surprise trip to a nearby park. I walked a circular path three times, in essence completing a trio of laps. It seemed to impress the CNA in charge, as I was the only one to complete even a solitary lap along that path. Walking the circle, there were many things that caught my eye. A glimmering blue ocean was visible to the west. Many birds were chirping. The grass was a combination of luscious shades of green, the oak trees majestic symbols of nature's beautiful resilience, reflections of the power of their divine Creator. Midway to the end of the circle, I walked by various structures that had been implemented for the completion of different exercises, and could tell they had been there for a while simply by observing the instructional signs that accompanied each implementation, explaining a proper method for completing its respective exercise. Fascinating though they were, and tempted though I was to try one, I simply kept walking, uneager to invite a court date for destruction of public property (unintentional or otherwise). But before I continued, I observed a humble wooden bench. The bench was in one piece, and seemed unaffected by splinters. It did not appear to be a dangerous place to take a rest. If anything it was quite inviting given the remnants of red crayon drawings, presumably by only one or two children given the uniformity of the presentation. Seeing each creation woven into a wood tapestry, I could not help but be reminded of the innocence of youth, the vulnerability and fragility of a child's sense of wonder. The minds of children are impressionable, as moldable as balls of clay. I know this well, having once been a child myself, many moons ago. I wonder how much time has elapsed since those drawings were made on that bench. For all I know, that child--or those children, provided more than one was responsible--may be well into adulthood now. The park appears to have been here for a while, but it does not appear to my untrained eye that there is a pressing need for any of the equipment to undergo repairs. After completing my third lap, I proceed to join the CNA, her assistant and several house-mates at a table near the playground. Sitting there, my mind is drawn, just as it had been upon seeing it through a window in the van, to a tire swing. One of my kitchen coworkers--who I am fortunate to see on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Friday-- shares an interest with me in classic shows and films (including children's television), and has spoken more than once of his ambitions for purchasing a twenty-tape collection of the first season of "Barney and Friends" on VHS, his favorite as he feels a nostalgia for the tire swing on which the Barney doll would always be resting prior to being transformed into a full-size dinosaur. Interestingly, when the circular rainbow formed on the swing, it would contain every color except purple, because Barney himself represented the purple of the rainbow! (I had never noticed that detail as a child but it's amazing to see it now as an adult.) I'm tempted to try the swing but forgo the idea, considering the possibility that it may not be fully equipped to support my mass. I am the lightest I've been in some time, but there is still work to be done. Sitting at the bench, I remain quiet. It is a moment to reflect on the tranquility of all that surrounds me. I notice several leaves and pick them up, hoping one of them may still be alive. Alas, each is dry as a bone, with varying degrees of degradation. All have died; all are returned to nature with a flick of my wrist. Some go into the grass, others onto concrete in closer proximity. I rise to get a sip of water, prompted by the rising of another housemate. I am warned in advance of the water being warm. I realize that the temperature of the water adjusts with the temperature of our outdoor environment. "Surely, in a cooler climate, the water would be cooler," I think to myself. I go up to take a sip. I'm grateful to have something to drink, and it does not bother me that the water's warm. Actually, aside from a somewhat metallic aftertaste, it is just about perfect. It recalls the feeling of drinking hot tea with a lemon wedge, minus the lemon and the tea bag. A great mental image to help it go down. It would be nice to go to the park every weekend, though I am not sure if it will happen. Two of my housemates have stayed behind, one by preference, another through the misfortune of having an overactive bladder. Eventually, we all return to the van and go to a Greek restaurant for dinner. It is a place in the same shopping center where the old Regal Shadowood 16 used to be; memories flood my brain of films I saw there, the first of them being "Skyfall" back in 2012. What a treat it would have been to take in a movie at the Shadowood yesterday...and perhaps even the snacks would have been better than what we ended up having at the restaurant. The place wasn't busy, and it didn't take long for me to see why. Everything was mediocre, from the food, to the service, to the condiments, to even the men's bathroom. Hopefully we will never go back. Still, it was a meal, and I am grateful I got to have something to eat. (And of course, a bad meal is a good probiotic, though I can't say I have been excrementally challenged lately.) Sitting at the computer with my TV off, I tune in to the song of a nearby bird. Its chirps resonate with grace, as impactful as a Mozart symphony or a Beethoven sonata. Upon taking out the garbage earlier this morning, I was greeted by a full orchestra of singing birds. Their songs, while seemingly cacophonous at an initial exposure, coalesced into a harmonious fantasy. At that time of the morning, the moon is still fully visible, even amidst a perfectly blue sky. A CNA posits the idea of me taking driving lessons, a concept I once dreaded. Now, it is highly compelling.