He spent numerous days in his pyjamas. If he recalled correctly and sometimes he didn't, he hadn't left the house; at least physically for 3 days. His skin seemed to weigh on him like a polyester suit. He had a constant itch and feeling of being enclosed, obsessing over people had never really known or liked. They seemed to live so effortlessly. Their social media posts and photographs projecting a warmth and a coherence that he felt unable to match in his own life. He wanted to leave no trace, live a blameless existence. He had many plans but no intention to execute any of them. She lived a noisy life in the attic above him. His day was filled with her footsteps and musical choices. He viewed her positively although their contact was functional in a practical sense; upbeat energy in otherwise gray days. It was a surprise when she invited him for a cup of tea. "It is weird that we live under the same roof but are otherwise strangers". There was no time to be surprised as the car skidded out of control and hit them, he tried briefly to grasp her hand, one last reflex. Although he lived an extensive life in his thoughts: he didn't have time to think a final thought.