After a sleepless night of pain the old man drags his breathless lifeless corpse out of a sunken bed of jagged thorny rocks, stiff unable to yet see as the classical music plays he scrapes himself off to prepare his coffee, as his hands shake and 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 hungerous rage, in the mirror a face blankly staring into the abyss reflecting his disheveled hair and beard, to tired to care he stumbles back to his bed where 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 and pulls on his coat, stumbling out the door the morning is dark and cloudy the air mild, as the world begins to wake not a soul cares for the hellish plight he must endure yet another day;

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