The murk outside didn’t help matters. There was never a clear transition of daylight or darkness. There was only the oppressive gray half-light, as if the world were being lit by phosphorescent fungus. Neither the sun or the moon could be glimpsed through the fog, and the sky was empty of stars. He was alone. He sat. He tried to cry and couldn’t. He sat some more. He sighed a lot. Occasionally, he attempted to eat something, not because he was hungry, but because it was something to fill the hours. Each time he tried, Dan ended up spitting the food out. All of it had that same flat, unpalatable, tasteless texture. He didn’t shave. He didn’t go to the bathroom. He didn’t have to. His stubble didn’t grow and his bladder and bowels remained quiet. And besides, with no plumbing or running water, he couldn’t exactly bathe or wash up anyway. If he stank, he couldn’t smell it. And so what if he did? It wasn’t like there was anybody else around to complain. He didn’t bother to change his clothes.
