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He wakes up. He feels okay. He does not feel bad. He itches all over but he is used to that now. He drinks some cold coffee. He has a shower. He brushes his teeth. His teeth taste of toothpaste after he has brushed his teeth. He likes the taste of toothpaste. It is familiar and it reminds of of childhood – the good and the bad. He sits on the bus. It is warm on the bus. He feels safe on the bus because he does not need to do anything. There is a comfort on the bus. The driver is nice and greets him and there is a give and take of politeness which is enjoyable and it warms his soul. He hopes it warms the soul of the bus driver. He sits at his desk at work and he strums on the keyboard. He makes some graphics. He raises his voice and irritates himself. He has some lunch and he eats some nuts and he drinks coffee with condensed milk in it and he wonders where his libido has gone. It has gone gone far away gone. He still gets an erection in the morning but he thinks that this is because his blood likes to rest there. He does not think this but he thought that thought would be amusing it. It is not. He wonders why he is still writing in the third person. He finds that someone has added him to their google+ list. It is someone he has never heard of before and it is probably a bot. Yet even knowing this he is both intrigued and flattered that he has been chosen. These are not rational feelings. This is certainly not literature and yet he keeps typing. He makes many mistakes in his work and he blames others for them and then he apologises for blaming but it is too late he has spread anger and bitterness. He eats chili. It is good chili. Then he goes home. He talks to a couple of friends and then he does some writing and then he goes to bed. He wonders why he bothers and he cannot find an answer but in the dissatisfaction in not finding an answer he finds the desire to continue at least one more day. He goes to sleep.