The trepidation of the train and the cold
morning light streaming through the window prevent him from sleeping. He went
to bed late last night. Again. He keeps promising himself he’s going to bed
early, catch some sleep, not be as tired the next day. But he never does. Not
for years now.
Going to sleep feels like giving up, to him.
Going to sleep rushes the morning, and he doesn’t like mornings.
So now he tries to rest on the train on his way
to work, but achieves only a kind of half-slumber which is even more tiresome
in its own way.
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