It's two am when James staggers towards his bed, he almost trips over the guitar he left on the floor in the middle of his room. He mutters profanities to himself as he pushes it with his feet into the corner where all the junk he doesn't want lives. Too tired to change he collapses on to the bed and just lies there for half an hour completely still, not really thinking, just being. When he musters the energy to move he removes his shoes and for a while he sits and stares at the wall where his map of the world used to be, five hundred and ten million suddenly didn't feel all that big, not compared to his six hundred and thirty one million seconds worth of experience. The map had been replaced many years ago, in its place now is an Iggy Pop poster. James admired the sheer power of Iggy, he wishes he had that enthusiasm and energy in any of his pursuits. James had tried his hand at learning guitar but his respect for modern music died when he heard the all too repetitive stylings of every recent pop song, he thought music was about expressing yourself but now he saw it was just a way to pretend you were just like everyone else and so he stopped without ever having learned a song.

As time passes James finds that his thoughts wander to nonsensical and trivial matters such as what temperature a cloud is and whether or not it actually tastes like fairy floss. He wonders if fairies really needed to floss and if something made of only sugar is the best thing to use. Then he thinks “What if they take children's teeth to replace all the ones they lose and because they feel guilty for using people as teeth farms they feel obliged to pay them.” His teeth obviously weren't good quality, he had heard of kids getting five or ten dollars for their teeth, the most he ever got was three. There were only four hours before James had to get up so that he could both look respectable and make it to work on time. An hour fades away before he falls asleep.

James doesn't like his commute to work, five thousand four hundred seconds there and back. He despises the people who are happy with their nine to five lives, he thinks nine to five jobs should be for the dropouts and deadbeats. When his colleagues talk about how great their weekends were he fakes a smile and says something like “sounds like fun.” before he makes up something interesting that he could've done on the weekend. He spends his twenty-eight thousand eight hundred seconds in front of a screen, sometimes he wonders why he can't do all his work from home.

James gets home and his night ends like all his recent ones, collapsing on his bed.