He wakes up. He gets in his car. He drives his car. He goes to work. He calls the Motor people. It seems that he shouldn’t have been driving his car. It seems that he has not transferred the title. He is an idiot. He will now have to stop driving his car and get lost in a mess of bureaucracy. It should have been done months ago. He is very excited about a book he is reading called from Where You Dream by Robert Olen Butler. It is a book about writing and already it is invigorating him along with many conversations he is having with a good friend of his who is a writer of some merit. Work is uneventful. His stomach is no longer sore. He spends too much time using Photoshop to make photographs for his Facebook page. This is pathetic. He is doing nothing productive at all. He drives home. He watches a terrible film. He agrees with everything in it but it is very poorly made. He wishes that is hadn’t been made. He eats some fish and he has a cup of coffee and he does some writing. He realizes that he still has not got his tax refund. He looks it up on the internet and with great sadness discovers that it has been used to pay for an old tax bill. What tax bill is this? He has no idea. Now he has a lot less money than he imagined. He is just like everyone else. This brings him no comfort. He hopes the woman who he has been talking to is alright. He goes to sleep.