Another Day

The fog had crept through his window before he had time to notice. It settled around his thoughts and reminded him of lonliness. He sighed and stared up at the ceiling, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and wondered why he had woken so early. Even the sun had not come up when he opened his eyes, but he knew he was awake and not simply drifting in and out of consciousness. If there had been dreams he could not remember.

He lit a cigarette and exhaled, trying to force resentment and anger out with his breath. He only succeeded in making small eddies of smoke curl their way towards the ceiling. He sighed again, smoked, crushed out his half finished cigarette and grabbed the bag containing his dirty laundry. He slipped his shoes on and trudged down the stairs through the hallway he shared with his house mates. They were still asleep. He went down another set of stairs to the laundry room where he put his clothes in the wash. Another exciting day.

He thought about breakfast, then thought again. There was no reception party in his stomach and the prospect of food made him sick. He gave up the idea and shuffled back up the stairs to his room. He looked around himself at the cluttered mess he had made of his life, the overflowing ashtray, the discarded articles of clothing littering different parts of the floor, the random stacks of books piled here and there. A gently wafting layer of smoke coalesced against the wall, which pushed back with the surity of mountains. He sighed again. Another day.