He has an ordinary life. 

He wakes up at 7 o’clock every day, after just one ring of his alarm, which he turns off with a soft grunt before slipping out of bed. He heads to the bathroom and takes a glass of water with a little blue pill and looks at his reflection on the mirror while swallowing it: a pale complexion makes his dark circles stand out even more. Then he proceeds with his routine. He takes a shower and gets ready to go out, he quickly grabs something to eat before heading out to work.

His job is ordinary. 

He works at a small coffee shop, located in a retired area in town, quiet enough to assure the most relaxed atmosphere possible. Most of the clients are businessmen from the near offices, nothing too loud or noisy. Serving coffees all morning, smiling politely and giving “good mornings” that don’t really mean anything  is easy for him. So he is ok with his job.

And his place is ordinary too.

A small apartment at a ten minutes walk from the coffee shop, made for just one person. that consisted basically in one room that worked both as living room and kitchen a bedroom that fitted only his king sized bed and a drawer and a small bathroom attached to it. He never really has guests anyway. 

When work is over he goes back home to have lunch, he usually prepares some instant noodles, he knows it’s a bad habit, but he can’t help it. It’s not that he can’t cook, he likes cooking more than he likes to admit, to the point that when he was searching for a new apartment he checked the kitchen way more than any other room, “Is there an oven? Not that it matters anyhow.” But what’s the point of cooking a full meal just for one person? That’s just a waste of energy. So he sticks to instant food instead.  

He has an ordinary life. Or at least he had.