Thurman hit snooze and pretended to sleep.
He thought about how that button sucked and shouldn’t be there and how lazy it made him feel and hit it again. He felt like he had to.
He didn’t want to feel like he had to.
Thurman longed to feel human. Full and purposed, ready and willing to tackle the important problems of the day like his heroes. With joy in his heart and a smile on his face and the certainty that the molecules in the Universe around him would bend to his will, the world his oyster begging for the sword.
And so he silenced the alarm for the sixth and final time and eased his feet over the side of the bed. He felt sick somehow. He pulled on a pair of old gym shorts and started toward the kitchen, where he looked forward to drinking his coffee and staring at the wall in silence.
The Average Life of Thurman Dogood 