Monday layered over Tuesday layered over Wednesday; Thursday was a tracing of the others and so on, with only faint warps around the edges—where he ate something slightly different for breakfast or missed a traffic light on the way home from work—to acknowledge the passing of time. He could travel forward and backward merely by existing within the halo of habit. He lived each day over and over, with only his memory of rising each morning to prove that his existence followed the same rules of motion as everything else.
