Light lit on the tops of the mountains to the East. Cold, spilling into the open door, running across the tiled floor, he tried to pull his blanket over himself but there was no blanket. His eyes opened. Where was he? And then he remembered. He found a blanket in the kitchen and returned to the newly reclaimed front room and sat on the sofa curled up in the quilted blanket. He was warm. He stared at the bits of black at the bottom of the fireplace and did what he spent most of his time trying to avoid; he thought.
“Am I alive?” he asked the silent room. He waited for an answer. None came. His gaze turned to the open door. He waited until the sun had completely cleared the mountains and the chill ran to the West. The blanket was pushed aside but he stayed curled up on the sofa