Roses smelt like butter and dandelions wet the bed. Who cared? It seemed there wasn't much to ask of anything. If ever there would be he wasn't yet sure. The chair seemed strangely uneven as he entered the room but so did the walls and doorframe. In an uneven world it's the real things that seem the strangest. He looked around but like always places, things, people they never seemed apparent to him. It was like he was experiencing them as though through a memory of a forgotten film. Confusion had led him here and now it kept him rooted, uncertainty was his master. He sat down. The chair stayed resolute. He'd been here, sat here a million and three times, but it never felt home. He wasn't comfortable. But where could comfort ever come from? The fox will take the rabbit into his hearth for a little while. He played out the familiar rigmarole of actions that happened every Thursday. Here. In this chair. It wasn't like Thursday was a particular cipher in his life. It just always had been a Thursday so there was no reason why he should change that now. He took off his jacket and caught sight of himself in the mirror glass on the far left of the room. He'd acquired the mirror glass long ago from a time he'd rather not think about and true to this the things he saw in it weren't things he wanted to see. Every time the world turns we see a little more of ourselves. So would we stop the world if we could? Possibly he thought. In a second. The room seemed far too quiet. He used to think that a quiet was a friendly calming hand on his soul, but more frequently now it seemed that it was menacing threat to his sanity. He turned on the radio to ease the tension of silence in the room. He was out of range of anything, even in this day and age. He perservered for a few minutes and then left the static snow to dance around. That would do. He found the white noise soothing...for now...