After another sleepless night of constant pain, the old man drags his breathless lifeless stiff corpse out of a sunken bed of jagged shards of thorny glass, unable to yet see as the classical music plays, he scrapes himself across the floor to prepare his coffee, as his hands tremble he pours in the water and counts the scoops of grind, fumbling he manages to plug in the percolator, as the coffee begins to perc he shuffles off to the toilet, where his bowels bellow out in a blood curdling hungerous rage, in the mirror a man stares into the abyss his hair and beard disheveled from a restless night, stumbling back to his bed he struggles to pull on his socks, pants and shoes, he pours a cup of coffee and gently packs his pipe with scraps of tobacco, he pulls on his coat and slips out the door, the morning is dark the sun is not even trying to yet rise, the air is mild and as the world begins to wake, not a single soul even tries to care for the enduring hell the old man must face yet another day;
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