Day after day he sat in the yellow wing chair in the living room, staring into space. Every now and then he would shake himself out of his daze, but it only took a second for him to remember who he was and how miserable he was and to reach for the big glass at his side. He seemed to be waiting for death, if he was clear enough to be waiting for anything specific. Oblivion was his aim. I think he would have gone anywhere with anyone at that time: a hospital, a rehabilitation center, a permanent sleep, it was all the same to him.
