When Larry woke up that morning he found that the bedroom TV was still on, he and Sophie having fallen asleep watching it the night before. It was tuned to HBO. Bill Murray was reaching across a double bed to find that Andie MacDowell was no longer there, Sonny, Cher and two DJs telling him once again that it was Groundhog Day. Larry was doing the same as Bill, Sophie unusually having gotten up before him. It was one of Larry’s favourite movies, and each time he watched it he could never help but wonder how he’d cope with living the same day over and over again. Pretty good, he figured, long as it wasn’t the day his son died. He didn’t know it yet, but the next twenty‐four hours weren’t likely to get his nomination either. Larry looked at the clock. It was six thirty. The alarm hadn’t gone off yet, so it must have been the noise of the TV that woke him. Sophie didn’t normally rise for another hour, but she wasn’t beside him, and the sheets were too cool for her just to have got up to pee.
