Even the Air is My Enemy

Spit out into the morning from desperate slumber, it is as if I am embraced by the hot breath of a great beast. My only expectation is to continue to exist and so I climb the stairs to the top of 900 building.

My globe is broken. This seems symbolic somehow as I contemplate worlds both real and figurative.

The countdown continues and soon it will be Monday and I will know with certainty if my personal number line drops into negatives. I fear absolute zero as a concept and a reality. Also, I still don't know what size staples my stapler uses. It's been two years since I ran out.