He tossed and turned till his wife told him to sleep downstairs. The rest of the night he spent on the couch, the lights switched off, the television tuned to the comedy channel, although he only caught fragments; it was difficult to concentrate on the screen. Too many things were running around in his head, disjointed images jostling for attention before shooting off on absurd tangents. Nothing made sense, after a while the scenes began to overlap, there was so much going on, too much information, all of it punctuated by the incongruous mirth of a laugh track.
His eyelids were closing. He fumbled for the button on the remote. It was time to get ready.
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