...", Jack mused to himself, scratching his armpit and staring out of the window.
The sky was hard and blank. It was midday. Nothing had moved since the night before. Jack had slept. Jack had woken up. Meanwhile, nothing had moved.
Suddenly, Jack moved. He was hungry. A new day had already dawned and matured. Soon it would wane. Jack was hungry. Stretching and yawning he stood up and a light hail of crisp tissues scattered over the floor. Released from the folds of a sagging tracksuit, tissue paper decorated the carpet like desolate confetti.
Hunger stirred. Jack could see the fridge through the open door and through the blur of half-open eyes and the blaze of hard, blank daylight. He moved suddenly now, in wayward, fast, frantic lurches, lunging diagonally like a dazed moth towards the prawn sandwiches...
To be continued by @Corpsey
