He wakes up. His rooms still smells of smoke because his landlord had a slight cooking accident on Sunday so most of Sunday was spent listening to the smoke alarm screaming and the house filling with smoke. His room now stinks of it and it fills his throat and he feels it in his lungs. He makes himself a coffee and he pisses in the toilet and he thinks about his Mother who died of cancer alone and scared in the hospital and he remembers hearing her death rattle over the phone as his brother begged him to hurry and fly over but he was too late. He listens to yet another radio piece about gamification which sounds like bullshit it probably is bullshit. He needs to learn to be less negative. He needs to learn to be more positive. He remembers the conversation he had with a friend the night before about his bleak world view and realises that this collecting of negative things about the human condition will end up destroying him. All he needs to do is to make it past 40 and he feels that he will have won the gamified version of his life. His eyes hurt but he can’t go back to sleep because of the stink of the smoke it is now present at the front of his consciousness and he cannot ignore it. He goes outside in to the cold and the dark of the outside and he breathes in the clean pure air and he walks around the neat and tidy wealthy suburbia that he believes and knows and is pretty sure that he is in the company of third world dictators and refugees from third world dictators all of whom are probably neighbours now waving across their white picket fences and sharing lemonade and summer pies and watching and smiling as their children go on play dates even as they try to forget the handless victims of their regimes or the faceless jackbooted soldiers that hounded them from their homes. He reenters the house. The smoke smell is still there and his eyes hurt but he is tired so he goes to sleep.