TY glances at his nightstand clock. 2:30 AM. It’s stuffy in his sheet + blanket layer, but he doesn’t do much about it besides roll around looking for a cool spot. It’s a wonder how warm a synthetic goose down blanket (comforter?) can be, especially one off of the giant warehouse that you can buy something from and have it arrive at your doorstep two (business) days later. The next glance is 4:30 AM. Then intermittent clock-glancing until around 6:30 AM when his retired iOS piece begins to chime. 7.5 hours and 75% sleep quality; psychologically acceptable, physiologically questionable. Two years ago, the iOS piece was a marvel of engineering that could propel anyone from the slums into the 21st century, connected 24/7/365. Today, it serves as a nice timepiece and sleep tracker, monitoring the movement and vibrations on his bed. Crazy as that might seem, it does not even seem to be the height of excess to him; rather merely an eccentricity. The times are a-changing.

The sky looks blue, violet, pastel-like as the setting sun sprays its light behind a building in the distance. Unfortunately the sight is marred by the squiggles in TY’s eyes; he has never been bullish on his eyesight nor has he ever not accepted his circumstance. It’s sad, but the sky is so vast, so expansive, with nary a cloud nor star to break its spread, unless you studied it closely and made out the slightly darker center, which undoubtedly holds a scattering of clouds. The sky’s color is a reflection of the massive bodies of water covering the planet, or so he remembers from reading somewhere. Probably the internet. There were so many things you could read from the internet, only half of which was true. He takes this time to stare, head hung back in a good neck stretch, and drink in the violetness of it all. Having the experience, Enriching it, and attempting to Absorb it - the last part slipped his mind, but the extending of wonderment was a good try. Sitting at a desk all day is killing him.

Towns and inter-towns roll by outside of the window like a scene from film. The last shuttle out, and the consequent last semi-fast local train afterward, always seems to take an exorbitant amount of time to get to TY’s stop. After ages, Hillsdale? As good as the current read is, he still drifts off, which thankfully goes unnoticed because of the one-seaters. He loves the one-seaters.