Bespectacled, cold, and unshaven, Chris pondered what to do with the day.

Blanket wrapped around his shoulders, both legs bouncing up and down violently out of anticipatory boredom despite the drowsiness inspired by recently waking. The mind’s creativity moving as slow as the clock spurning anything coming; shivering, dejected, and rejected, Chris climbed back into bed, stirring five minutes later.

He twisted and lashed at air and muttered, “This is ri-God-damn-diculous.”
With loss, Chris stared off into the Hubble telescope’s photo of the Crab Nebula, insanity slowly creeping up from behind as a police cruiser with nothing better to do.
“And it’s only 11:30.”


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