He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. Impressions of discomfort overwhelmed him, as he tried to withstand the imminent urge to scream and let his neighbours know, that he has not yet given up. This was far from over.
His utterly predictable existence had taken a turn for the worse when the young couple had moved in next door. What was he to do? He had already made plans for today, next week, the weeks, months and years after that up until the inevitable:
1.) get up
2.) suffer
3.) go to sleep
4.) repeat
He particulary enjoyed none of those, but over the years he developed somewhat of an appetite for pure repetition. Interference was futile: Anyone or anything keeping him from his schedule would feel his wrath, powered by his supreme intellect.
"Who were they to interfere?"
