8am. Fuck. Due in at 8am and here I am, mattress stuck and gunk-eyed. Right. I take a shower and wash the last of those 24 hours away from me, 24 hours that felt like the best kind of drinking. They were sober.
I wash those hours away from me, take a drink of water, register the darkness of the hour and head out.
Miserable heads. Properly miserable heads clutching cardboard coffee cups and nobody smoking for at least another three days, when the sameness-as-last-year will hit them and they'll reach.
I don't soundtrack it, I forget about the music in my pocket. I just walk in some middling funk. I forget about the music and the fact that I'm not hungover. I feel like I should be.
The same heads, or at least they could be. I only see suits of a morning, never faces.
I hope I can turn on the lights, on some pretense of being on time, before I realise I don't care. I need a real job anyway. Something non-dickhead but lucrative. I need to resolve but this is no time for resolution, this is just another day where I come in, bang on the headphones, cut myself off and live in an idyll while everyone else treats it as the end of the world.