Goddamn Sundays

Off for just a week and the Complete and Total Loser has forgotten what it's like to have a full-time job. Getting up at six, his summer smoothie for breakfast, getting to the train station in time for the 7:32, at work by 8:30, doing reports. 
He likes not working and would do it all the time, if money permitted. Perversely, the idea of not working is a thin silver lining to his impending diagnosis of prostate cancer. His attitude will be like the character Mike's in Breaking Bad: "Shut the fuck up. Let me die in peace."

But there is something about Sundays for the never married and alone. No matter how late you sleep, they stretch before you like a wide road, curiously empty, shimmering in the heat.