He wakes up. He eats a cold banana from the fridge. The peeled skin is cold on his hand like wet flesh. He eats the banana. It has the texture of meat. He is not sure he is awake yet. The banana disappears slowly into his mouth as he chews trying to ignore the peeled back skin limp on his hand. He drinks a hazelnut coffee. He can remember no dreams. He watches as bag after bag containing South Korean children are lined up on the shore as they are gently gathered from the ship that was their tomb. There seems no end to the line of children. Their parents heavy with mourning heave nearby. He feels his belly distending with food. He gorges on a pizza he doesn’t really want to eat. His knee still aches. He finishes reading The Racial Contract. It is brain-changing. It is mind-blowing. It is clear and precise. Someone on the television says an event was unimaginable but it was not unimaginable. It was a very imaginable event. Most events are imaginable. Especially the terrible ones. He is haunted by his memory of dead leaves. He does not go outside. The sun is shining but he is afraid of pollen. He brushes his teeth. There is lots of blood – blood dripping down his chin filling the sink spilling over the sink and filling the small blue bathroom sloshing up the walls the door shut tight as he drown in his own blood. Then he finishes all of his laundry and he plays the piano and he is still not very good at playing the piano but noone is listening and he enjoys pressing the buttons or keys or whatever they happen to be called. He has no ethical map or moral compass. He wonders if they sell them at the surplus store but it is unlikely, given the world as it is, that there would be a surplus of ethical maps or moral compasses. He vacillates. He goes to sleep.