He wakes up. He sees stains on his chair. He does not look closer to see what they are. Then he looks closer. He wishes he hadn’t looked closer. The bus driver improvised the bus routes traveling down roads none of the regular passengers have seen before. He watches a written sizzle and shot on the sidewalk. It is very hot. He moves the worm to the grass in the shade with the edge of his foot but the worm still bubbles and spits. It is to late for the worm. It is to late for every worm. Every one. Everyone. He buys some lentils. More of his villagers die. He only had the villagers left. He should never have begun construction on that mine. He feels totally responsible. He hopes the orchard will grow in time and offer sustenance along with the fishing and the hunting that keeps the remaining villagers clinging on to life. The well built houses are empty. The villagers must feel the loss every time they pass it to go into the forest to weep our whatever it is they do when they are hidden behind digital trees. He sees the renegade economist Simon Johnson on the train. He sees the gentleman from Subway who sometimes makes his sandwiches on the train. They are both wearing caps. Simon is wearing a white cap. He also has a red back pack. Subway is wearing a red hat. He will ask Subways name next time he purchases a sandwich or he will look at the name tag on his shirt and remember the name on it. He is beaten down by the heat when he leaves the train station. A violinist plays. He buys mixed nuts. He enjoys the air conditioning and engages in conversation with polite staff members who would rather not be there. He drinks lots of water. He talks. He quaffs. He considers. He thinks. He draws. He presses buttons. He talks intensely and without clarity. He is misunderstood. He is tired. He eats yoghurt. He writes and dreams and is overwhelmed. He goes to sleep.