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He tried to stick to his routine. He was aware what it was doing to him. The routine kept him quiet. The quiet was growing inside him. A deep black space. It was easier to let it grow than to look at it. If it spread far enough, it would erase him. That was okay. Today, especially, that was okay.
It wasn’t enough. He needed a regimen that meant something. Not just an empty routine. He needed to work, and get somewhere. If he didn’t do it fast, he was going to end up parked on a barstool until his funeral.
