He wakes up earlier than normal. There must be more to life than this he thinks but there is probably not more to life than this. He goes back to sleep. He wakes up again and then he goes for a run. Then he regrets going for a run about 3 miles from his house because he has to run 3 miles back and there are no buses and even if there were buses he forgot to bring any money or his bus pass because he was going on a run and who brings money or a bus pass on a run? Certainly not him. He stagger-runs back all the way back home determined not to walk because there are so many commuters driving and staring at him yes he is so important running in the rain. No one is paying any attention to him. They are all texting each other, moments away from death as they spend more time looking at screens and seats than what is going on out through the windows of their cars. Everyone a button push from death. Each person their own Nuclear Winter. He makes it home and sweating and red on his bed he derobes and attempts to pleasure himself but he does not have the energy and his libido is dying somewhere in the middle of last October. He showers and he has a coffee and then he reads some of his book on the first world war and he finishes the book but he is no closer to understanding the teeth breaking insanity of those four years and no matter how bad it appears now he knows that life is not that bad because he does not need to scoop his friends brain out of his helmet before eating the innards of a horse in order to stay alive whilst living in a thick sucking pit of mud. He goes to sleep.