The day was young but the year was old and the decade was middling. I rubbed my bald head on his rounded stomach and he woke up with a reluctant yawn. We went out for breakfast, and here we are, but the staff are ignoring us. Like we aren’t even alive. I wonder if we are alive. My heart is beating fast, too fast, so I think I’m alive. The December heat is burning my scalp as we walk back home. I make toast soldiers and boiled eggs. We end up back in bed.