An unfamiliar smell greets me and wakes me up as I embrace the morning rays streaming into the window of my room. I check my phone to see the time. The smell of incense, like expired hope. But still, life persists. Succumbed to the usual routines. I make my bed and take a whiff of much needed (fresh) air. Or what is left of it. Looking out the window, all I see is death. Perhaps more than the average minimal, a supermassive black hole, sucking all the life out of people. A pattern of lurking lethargy and giddy daze. A symptom of asphyxiation just as the English Rock band, MUSE had predicted, that our time is running out.
Time-check now: 12:22.