He wakes up. Does he? He does. Vibrating pillow. Tweaks. Hazelnut coffee. Rice and peanut butter and broccoli and cake and cakes and cake. Glenn Greenwald is charming and speaks quickly. Glenn Greenwald is tired. Glenn Greenwald’s film crew films behind the scenes of his epic book tour. He reads. He does some art. He drinks some water. He imagines he is on a hill swash buckling a small group of animated skeletons. It is night but the fires from the burning forest below and the large full moon light the desperate action on the cliff top. He slips the skeletons rally and dash but it was but a feint and a twists and with ease slices them all over the clouds fading them on the rocks below but the night has only just begun. He is not hungry but he eats some vegetables. It makes him feel better. He probably eats a taco. He lies down. He plays a video game that is supposed to be art. It probably is art. It probably is overrated. It is overrated. He watches a man get onto a bus. He watches a woman get off a bus. He watches pixels explode in misty clouds of blood, digital viscera smears itself across the screen. He is moved to disgust then unmoved because it isn’t real but maybe it is real. Then he reads. Then he sleeps.