He wakes up. He has a shower. He prepares fish and he prepares vegetables and also some yoghurt and blackberries and nuts and honey for his lunch. He draws more pictures and he talks with friends who highlight his recent madness for him and he is glad of it but he is still glad that he did it because at least now he knows that he has well and truly killed love and not just left it injured in a ditch from where he can go and rescue it at some future selfish date when he himself feels the need for reciprocation. He plans his future and it doesn’t tread many steps past his fathers who ended when he was 45. So he has 10 years to make a mark. That should be more than enough time to make the mark he wants to make – positive creative inspiring mark on the world. Even so he keeps checking his phone for texts and his email for messages but there are no texts and there are no messages and with chagrin he realises that there will be none. He listens to NPR and he reads some more of Ayn Rand and whilst it is terrible he feels compelled to keep reading because she is just so sure of herself and all her characters are sure of themselves and that in itself is quite refreshing because he doesn’t feel sure of himself at all. He drifts into uncomfortable sleep.