He wakes up. He has a shower. He drinks some carrot juice. He brushes his teeth. He drinks some more carrot juice. The taste lingers as he walks to the bus. He is the only person except for the driver on the bus. He waits in the cold at the second bus stop. Everyone looks tired. He feels tired. He arrives and drinks a coffee and makes some oatmeal and ignores the cat and runs around with a child and talks to another child and watches the school bus leave and goes to the bathroom and walks to the auto shop and balks at the cost of repairs which are the same as the cost of the car which is a lesson to him not to buy a cheap car. Then he gets into work and discovers that he has, by proxy, an Emmy, but he has not really won an Emmy but someone more deserving at his job has won an Emmy but he can pretend that he has won it even though he did nothing to win it. Then he ponders the shut down and wonders if it is a right wing coup and then he wonders about Julian Assange and wonders if he is watching the trailer of The Fifth Estate on loop a thick erection piercing the air in front of him pushing through the open fly of his pyjamas as he wanders around the Ecuadorian Embassy in a cloud of his own ego leaving half eaten bowls of cereal snaffled from the work fridge as disgruntled employees of the building get more and more annoyed with his presence as he scratches and sings his way through the days but then he thinks that this is a terrible imagined view of this Lancelot of Truth and he is no doubt beavering away clean cut and washed on some kind of large tome which will show everyone how to live a better more private life. The government is still shut down and the right wing coup still continues apace. There were ancient volcanoes on Mars which doesn’t seem to be news but is made into news. He makes some egg fried rice which is tasty and unhealthy. He talks to a friend. He worries that his car is a money pit. He plays a video game. He ignores Newt Gingrich. That was all. He goes to sleep.