He wakes up. The morning is acceptable. It is cold outside. The President is visiting the Mexican President. He has a coffee. He reads about anarchism and the FBI. He is not interesting enough to be on a watch list. He wonders at the possibility of horizontally organised societies and thinks that those who are currently in power would never let it happen because they have too much to lose. He remember the book The Island by Aldous Huxley. Probably something like that would happen. He eats a sandwich that has processed meat in it. This will probably shorten his life by minutes. He remembers his best chat up line ever when he told a woman that he thought women were better than men because they are more manipulative. What he had intended to say was that he thought that women were more intelligent than men but even that saw him falling on the spikes of sexism. He then drunkenly tried to extricate himself from his initial thesis as this very patient and amused woman watched him immolate on his own stupidity. This was years ago but he remember it with fondness as his finest moment of attempted and failed romance – “because, right, you see, women are weaker than men, physically weaker so they need, they need to be, they have to use words and control men….” and so on and so on. It was a triumphant moment of eloquence. He has an early night and falls asleep with the light on.