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The shrill, repetitive sound of Dain's alarm clock roused him from sleep at 4:30 AM; this Thursday—like any other day for the past three weeks— Dain had only slept for two or three hours. With a kvetch, he rolled out of bed, accidentally moving the rug with his slippers and messing up their order. It was ironic, really; the slippers had been carefully arranged the night before. And yet, he had stumbled over them like the thought he’d put to their placement didn't matter. Now Dain would have to fix the rug and slippers before putting them on to avoid the dust on the dirty floors he hadn't vacuumed in various days on the way to brush his teeth. That was double the work. The fact that somebody could set out such an easy and straight path for oneself to follow and then destroy it the next second fascinated him for some reason. After sluggishly fixing the damned rug and putting on his slippers, he shuffled over to his apartment’s bathroom to brush his teeth, not to shower. Not yet, at least; Dain always exercised, and then he'd shower. Never the other way around. That would be completely absurd, not to mention it would completely disturb his routine. It´s outrageous to change one’s perception of reality — or at least what keeps a sense of it — by switching their routine randomly. It was one of the beliefs that gave Dain the ability to fool himself into believing he was better than almost everyone he met. While brushing his teeth, he could do nothing but let his gaze wander around the room. On the floor lay a pile of dirty clothes from the previous night out, a night out implied walking in the lonely streets with a bottle of beer in one hand, coupled with his journal and fountain pen in the other. In the toilet, bile, not throw up, because he hadn’t eaten in three days. He’d have to clean up the bathroom eventually, not now, for it was already 4:33 AM, and he needed to change because his oh so magical brain had decided that the clothing he’d put on many times before wasn't acceptable to be in public. So, after stomping on the ground in frustration, he went to the closet and started to look through the shirts. God, they were all awful. What? How could I have nothing to wear when I have so many articles of dress right in front of me? How can I waste my precious time on such a trivial thing? This wasn’t his routine. He didn’t normally stand there like a retard and ogle at his vestiary, pondering about what he should and shouldn’t wear. Is the vanity of my peers finally rubbing off on me? He had to pick something. Quickly, before his newfound pomposity spread elsewhere. With a brief shake of the head, Dain grabbed a black shirt and a pair of gray sweat pants, which he then realised, after throwing them on, that every man wore them to attract others. Why do people do that? It’s so incredibly selfish to spend so much time manipulating people into wanting to have a relationship or—nowadays— just sex with them. It’s ludicrous, especially when it is just for a night of pleasure. To change oneself for what, a fleeting moment of ecstasy? People are utterly hopeless. Dain was a person, too, but that thought hadn’t crossed his mind yet, and it wouldn’t have for a long time. That was besides the point, though, because he was not dressing for anyone. I don’t need that kind of attention…right? No, of course not. I'm better than that, so it must be fine to dress like this for the day After that long spiral of thoughts, Dain stepped into his worn-out leather boots and headed out for his morning walk. He went by the older buildings, of course. There was something about them, maybe the shape of their windows. They almost looked like eyes, kind and free of judgment, at least that's what he imagined eyes free of judgment would look like, because he had never really felt that kind of gaze on him before. Ivy ran up the red bricks of most buildings, just as moss filled the cracks on the tiles of their driveways. Dain had taken a liking to one specific house at the corner of a road. It had two smaller windows on the side of its slanted roof, the rest of the roof draped over them in a way that made them look as if they smiled at him whenever he passed by. It made him feel wanted, almost. Like someone looked forward to seeing him pass by every morning, even if it was just a lifeless building. Once he reached that certain house, he looked into its welcoming gaze and inhaled deeply. He lived for those moments where the air was crisp, and he could look at the morning dew on the petals of the rose bush by the door. Those moments were the ones that aided his soul, that kept him calm during the rest of the day.