The light of the sun shone through my dirty window, casting a visible ray up the wooden floor. The specks of dust that enter the light, fall with the grace of snow, on a cold winter night, in the lamplight. There are birds outside, I can hear them. They've been cooing all morning, pecking at the crumbs strewn along my concrete driveway by my neighbor. When the crumbs finish, they go back to perching atop my neighbor's roof -- vulture-like silhouettes huddled in crooked rows, waiting for something to hit the concrete floor.

I don't feel my left arm when I first try to move it, but after a while, the cold, fuzzy feeling of blood flowing through the veins brings sensation back to it. That familiar pain in my lower back neck starts up again. With my right hand against my chin, I try to force my head into itself -- hoping for something to crack, and finally rid me of the discomfort -- but, to no luck. I can feel its peak. I can feel how close it is, and, like a man on the verge of tears, desperately trying to get his vehicle to start, I push it further. It sputters . . . It sputters . . . It stops.

Now the pain is doubled. I ignore it and I sit up. I stretch a little and then get out of bed. My loafers are nowhere to be seen, so -- on the fronts of my feet -- I head towards the bathroom. The coolness of the ground causes my feet to leave warm imprints wherever I step. My eyes struggle to open, and my face feels caked and greasy. The thought of cold water splashing against it seem inviting.

I enter the bathroom and ignore the blinding light. I splash my face with cold water and gently scrub it with a towel until a feeling of freshness surfaces. I look in the mirror. The same stoic face I saw the day before; the same stoic face I'd see tomorrow; the same unsmiling face everyone else sees. This empty sensation begins to build up. People have always told me I have a nice smile -- and so I force a smile, but that's all it was . . . forced. The emptiness grows . . . I ignore it and continue with my morning routine. When I finish, I exit the bathroom and stand at the kitchen doorway.

"Damn. What am I gonna' eat?"

Cereal? No. Yogurt? Yogurt is slower to digest, it's better to eat it before bed in order to further enable protein synthesis during sleep -- plus, you're out of granola. Damn. Peanut-butter and banana toast? Nah, I ate that yesterday. Without really thinking, I fill the teapot with water and set it up on the stove-top my General Electrics stove, and set the heat to medium. I look around the kitchen, still looking for something to eat until my eyes fall onto the kitchen window.

"The vultures are still out there," I think to myself.

I decide to make some pancakes, with a side of eggs and bacon. I grab my phone to play some music, and hit shuffle on Spotify -- Lou Reed's "Perfect Day" comes on. Today is going to be . . .