He wakes up. There is chocolate everywhere. Justin Bieber drinking and drag racing in fast cars. Sizzurp is scaring the parents of America. Everyone is wealthy in Des Moines. Gender lines are still kept hard and fast on morning television. Civil War bubbles in Ukraine. A gang rape is sanctioned as suitable punishment in a small village somewhere in West Bengal in India. Somewhere the sun is rising. Somewhere it is setting. Somewhere apparent and actual reality meet for a cup of coffee and a cup of tea. He watches as story after story is condensed and misrepresented in little chunks of two to three minutes long. Everyone will be injected with cameras and phones one day. One day everyone will be their own reality show. One day the Oscars won’t be predominantly white. One day the moon will be colonized and Mars will be colonized and beards will go out of fashion again and South Sudan is collapsing but it’s okay because George Clooney is trying to buy a satellite so that everyone can watch the implosion in real time until he has a new hobby. Then there is ice and cold and blizzards and death and the embrace of a dreamless sleep.