Everyday

When he awakes his eyes are a little less bloodshot, his beard a little more gray.

Perhaps it'll be better today.

He lets the water run in the basin for a minute, untouched, then turns off the tap.

No, not yet.

He goes back to the bed, sits by the phone, feet on the carpet, waiting for the wake-up call.

When it comes, he lets the phone ring four times before he answers, then tries to sound sleepy as he says "Yes, yes, thank you."

It's a small victory, but the minute he puts the phone down the tiredness reclaims him.

It begins again, just as he knew it would.