You wake up. You slouch off to the bathroom. You half-heartedly wash your face with the ferric liquid still left in the cistern. You long for warm water but somebody didn't pay the bills did they? You put the requisite pea-sized amount of Colgate on your index finger. You rub it in vain across your neglected gums. You cast your arid mind back to your last wholesome meal, the bucolic sound of cutlery being laid out at the dinnertable in the houseshare you used to live in.
You shit your underwear.
You smile.
You call in sick for work.
Forever.
