XLIX

I used to breathe quarter-lungs. It was my diurnal routine, my casual state of living. Such consumption of the atmos was emblematic of dying beings confined to their sickbeds. But otherwise I was mimicking the society regulars, cooking myself dinner, gazing at shooting stars, summarizing today's deeds, making plans for tomorrow. Maybe I was to afraid to live, and the omnipotent unconscious of mine who controlled the soundtrack switched low-energy. My body got used to not getting enough oxygen. It got used to be prepared for death.