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He wakes up. Is life all there is, he wonders. It will probably be enough for now. He makes productive use of his morning and he feels better about that because recently he hasn’t been doing that. Then he makes productive use of his afternoon and suddenly the day is over and he eats some fish and he talks to a friend and he reads some books and he talks to another friend and then he learns that James Gandolfini is dead. Then he learns that Michael Hastings is dead. Lots of people died today. Lots of people were born today. They filled in the holes that the dead left and the line of the remainders stretches out to the horizon. He goes to sleep.

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