He wakes up. He forgets something terribly important and regrets it horribly as he desperately tries to make amends but cannot make amends because he finds himself balancing between two poles that may never balance themselves. Then he has a coffee and some lean pockets and considers the pain in his chest and the pain in his shoulders and wonders if they are related to his insensitivity or to his diet or to the stress that his car isn’t working again and he has no money to fix his car again or the fact that he ate pie for breakfast and now he feels nauseous. Then he worries about his job and he worries about his salary and he worries about Noam Chomsky and he worries about Glenn Beck and Jeremy Paxman and Russel Brand and Brand Name Cereal and Serial Killers and The Killers. His beard is enormous and it keeps his face warm now that it is cold. He despairs of leaders but does not have the desire or the capacity or the skill to be one himself. He despairs of mainstream news and he despairs of alternative news. He despairs of facts and of analysis and he despairs of opinion and objectivity and power and oppression and then he has some chicken and some salad and then he has a very deep and powerful conversation that highlights his insensitivity and he hopes that he will do better and then he reads and then he falls asleep with The Daily Show bubbling in the background and then he wakes up unable to sleep and makes his tiny little army of men attack another tiny little army of men as, nearby, two bears snuffle in an abandoned campground.