The Open Matt Project

He wakes up in the

He wakes up in the morning, and mixes his first cup of coffee. The scent of roasted beans fills his house and mixes with the occasional smell of morning breath as he makes his way to the shower. The hot water hits him, and the steam makes his lungs feel heavy and sickly clean. Scrub and brush and wipe and dry and it's pull on another suit for the day. He glances out the window. Another grey, overcast day. A random with a parka walks by, oblivious of the weather, or anything else. No matter. He grabs the coffee and pours his cup, black, no sugar. It crawls into his belly and starts a stomach acid revolution, but that is nothing new. One grimace and he's downed it and is ready to absorb the day. He gathers his briefcase, his coat, his glasses. This is the longest part of the day. Five minutes in eternity. He sees his dead wife, and lives an entire lifetime again in that moment. He hears the voices of approval pushing him up the ladder of success, and the corresponding payments he's made from his childhood account. He feels the sag of his face, and the weight of time draped on his flesh like a wetsuit of bill collection. He looks at his watch. Two minutes to go. His eyes lift to see the door and the familiar white paint and wood grain is more familiar to him than his own skin. He draws a breath like sliding a blade from a wet sheath, long and labored. With a look behind him, to see if there is anything forgotten, he is met with the quiet comfort of his living room, and the irony of the name is lost on him. One minute. Time to face the day. Time to get your game face on. Time to see things through. Time to go. Out he goes, one step at a time into the breathless face of existence.