The heavy footfalls dully thudded up the steps. Setting aside the bag of groceries, now perched precariously on the porch's lip, the man fished into his pockets for keys. One eye on the leaning bag, he struggled with the door for a moment; its aged wood swollen against the white frame around it.

Shuffling inside he kicked off his shoes and closed the door with one leg. Going through the mechanical motions of putting away the groceries as the inner machinations of mind slowly grinded at what to do next. It felt like today had so many possibilies, yet when he thought of them all it felt overwhelming. Like each hour could be filled to the brim with excitement or enjoyment. Yet when the foodstuffs were packed away he sat down on his couch and stretched.

Lazily watching the dust swirl in the beams of sunlight streaming through the open window, he wondered what to do. Wondering if reaching out and contacting a friend might force his hand. Force him into actually following through on one of the many cockeyed ideas drifting through his head.

Perhaps a stroll? Too cold out. Perhaps a movie? Nothing at the theatre struck a chord. Perhaps an outing to a restaurant? No, too expensive. Watch silly videos online? Too counter-productive. Watch a documentary? Nothing of interest or too depressing.

With each idea that passed, so too did his enthusiasm. The angle of light on the wall slowly shifted downwards, the soft waltz of music accompanying its march. There wasn't much to be said for the day as it passed by, except that it was one of many wasted moments. One too many times spent drifting along with no direction. The mast of his ship broken and torn, stuck out at sea without any flares to send -- or patrols to see them.

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