He wakes up. He feels his eyeballs stroking the rasped flesh of the inside of his eyelids. He showers in coffee. He washes his face with milk wet cereal. He feels imaginary limbs sprouting from the dark recesses of his body and grasping at his shadow. He smells death in the air. The sickly sweet smell of life a distant base scent. Goats wander around a digital landscape. Goat skulls plunge softly into the dry desert. Animals speak in tongues. Badgers dress as businessmen. The desperate dance of the lost is pointed at by tourists. Child soldiers play video games. Drones drone. Bees buzz. Wind whips. He has functioning teeth. They sing and they dance. They are a popular sitcom on a kids network. He is not afraid to smile. No one can see his lips. He watches Happy and Happy and Happy and Happy and Happy and for those moments the world isn’t a monstrous suppurating molten ball of pain shooting through the blackness of space. Sport happens. War happens. Corruption happens. Birth. Death. Etc. He goes to sleep.