7192
Anthony Robottom
Woken by the most annoying sound in the universe.
An alarm clock from hell.
I leap from Utopian dreams, and from under the sheets.
Seven o'clock in the morning.
Not even morning; seven midnight.
I drag clothes on. The ones I find on the floor.
Drag myself down to breakfast.
I go into the cold, looking like someone who slept outside.
Go to class, like a zombie.
Night follows morning, and that was the
Seven thousand, one hundred and ninety second day.
