I woke up allegedly, disappointed in the newly born day like a parent with unrealistic expectations. The motel room gripped me on all sides and I lay transfixed within the cream brick tomb. Consciousness stirred like a mongrel dog and growled, berating me for things I had, and had not, done. Chalk off another day from the dwindling list.

The TV shrieked into life, laughing, singing, selling and lying. It was twice the man I was, more important, empathetic and wise than I could hope to be. Morning television was a godsend for the intellectually impaired, such as I, and we crooned a happy song together.

Nothing much had happened, yet I was exhausted and deprived of love. I emerged from the bed as from a chrysalis and stood naked on the tiles, a wizened nymph getting older by the second. All hope was flushed away in the antechamber and I made the decision to face the day.

My hand twisted the door handle with regret and I stepped into the corridor of uncertainty. There it was again, the sound of a desperate man beating his head against the wall. I ignored an impulse to retreat into obscurantism and put on a brave face. It was nothing like I thought it would be.