He woke up that morning, planted his two feet firmly on the ground where they touched the cold of the naked floor and transferred their warmth, receiving the strength of the earth beneath the air beneath the wood under him. Today was the day -- just one day -- but in fact a series of days, weeks, minutes, instants had accumulated until this day was inevitable.
His stomach protested. As firm as his feet on the ground dangled his head in the haze that had developed in the middle space of the room, a wave of grey pressure that seemed to originate near the back of his head but which had floated forward and was now hovering like a pulse of static over his line of sight. Oxygen. Coffee. He propelled himself off the bed and into a standing position, taking his phone as an accomplice to the whole ordeal.
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