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Pretext: The Unabomber and the Trumpet Player share two rooms directly next to each other in a house. They are only recently acquainted.

The Unabomber wakes up at approximately 10:30 AM. Well, really the Unabomber wakes up at approximately 6:45 AM. He relieves himself in the bathroom and returns to his bed where he turns back and forth approximately four to five times until he falls back asleep. The Unabomber is aware his body doesn’t require more sleep (since he has slept 10+ hours the night previous, though it’s also worth noting the 2-3 nights previous to that his sleep had been very poor due to unmentioned circumstances), but scientifically analyzes in his mind that if he were to stay awake at 6:45AM, somewhere  prematurely along the way in his day his eyes will start hurting and begin to feel sleepy, which will then lead to an unproductive limbo period in which the Unabomber has to decide if he should take a nap—despite not really feeling tired enough to take a nap. Meanwhile, the Trumpet Player sleeps soundly in his adjacent room, unbeknownst entirely of the free will based philosophical quandaries that are currently besetting the Unabomber.

Unless, of course, snoring is a sign of assent. The Trumpet Player will often lie snoring in his room far past the time the Unabomer’s rises from his lair. This would seem like it might provide as some type of primordial riddle: who wakes earlier in the morning, the Unabomber or the Trumpet Player? Well, it’s no wordsmith’s riddle—as mentioned above,  the Unabomber typically rises earlier. 

The first order of business in the Unabomber’s day is to shake off the remnants of his REM cycle dream (which perhaps would have never taken place had he awaken at 6:45AM) involving Tom Cruise playing a rock concert at a tiny venue, in which Cruise and company (the company seem to be the more average looking participants of a rock back: young and possibly Latino)  are playing actual songs known to the Unabomber from an entirely separate (and real) band, the Secret Machines.  The Unabomber surmises this dream has at the very least something to do with his recent viewing of the movie Edge of Tomorrow, which left him more interested in the underpinnings of the psychology of Tom Cruise rather than an explanation for the plot of the movie (which for all interested parties was a sci-fi Groundhog’s Day meets Saving Private Ryan except Ryan is a hot chick). The Unabomber knows Tom Cruise is a scientologist and assumes Cruise is also fairly intelligent. So what exactly is going on here?

Rome, as they say, wasn’t built in a day.

Next the Unabomber enters the kitchen and retrieves an overly green banana. He peels the banana and eats it rather quickly. The Unabomber walks around the back of the house as the aluminum shedding outside yawns and bends from the gusty weather. The sounds excite him for some reason, as if he’s back in a movie or a dream—perhaps Jurassic Park. The Unabomber dons a jacket and a sweater, then a beanie and some sunglasses. It’s not sunny outside but the sunglasses are prescribed and they will also protect his eyes from the wind and drizzle (thus, the Unabomber is born).

When the Unabomber reaches outside, he’s a happier man. On a warmer day, the Unabomber might run or look for exercise, but today, the strong, cold weather is enough to make a simple walk interesting. Halfway down the empty street, wind chimes agree. Part of the beauty of the cold wind whipping against his face is that it doesn’t let him think too much. The Unabomber merely let his mind pay attention to the physical sensations that accompany his body’s movements.  When the Unabomber thinks too much, it can inevitably tend toward the unpleasant. 

The only people the Unabomber sees outside on his walk are a few construction workers beside a white dump truck. The Unabomber then wonders if he is the sole person in his entire neighborhood strolling around for the sake of strolling around, since it’s pretty damn cold. The Unabomber wonders what cars think of him as they drive by. Do they think nothing? Do they try to ascertain his motives? Does his appearance belie them trying to ascertain his motives or does it inform them? Why in the hell does the Unabomber think thoughts like this anyways? Shouldn’t the Unabomber just keep walking?

At about the exact time the Unabomber comes full circle (when he hears the wind chimes again), the Unabomber thinks about a text message from his mom, in which she asked whether he remembered his sister in law’s birthday. And unexpectedly, the Unabomber becomes overly angered at the digitally interconnected world which he has opted out from—for if he had a Facebook, he would have been reminded of her birthday. The Unabomber can hardly remember his brother’s birthday. Does this mean the Unabomber needs a Facebook? A Facebook seems quite un-Unabomber.

This reminds the Unabomber of one of the few conversations he has had with the Trumpet Player (the Trumpet Player is a middle aged man who has recently moved in with the Unabomber. The Trumpet Player seems nice and keeps to himself, spending almost all of his time inside his tiny room that resides directly next to the Unabomber.  The Unabomber wonders if the Trumpet Player prefers to stay in his room, or isn’t yet comfortable spending time in the common area because: A. he doesn’t know the Unabomber and his roommate well enough B. he doesn’t want to C. he thinks the Unabomber doesn’t want to get to know him because he’s older D. the common area doesn’t have anything to offer him E. the possibilities continue endlessly… ) One night, when the Trumpet Player came home fairly drunk (as he admitted to being), he mentioned how his friend had stopped using  Match.com, but how he had instructed his friend he needed to stay on it.  The Unabomber confided in the Trumpet Player that he had once used OkCupid.com and that it seemed like a viable alternative to the bar scene. The Unabomber also offered that—as superficial as it seems, dating is really just a numbers game, plug and chug, eventually you will find success.  The Trumpet Player and the Unabomber then somewhat awkwardly concluded their conversation and returned their separate rooms.

At around 12:15 PM, a fair time after the Unabomber has returned from his walk, the Trumpet Player is heard rustling in his room.

The Unabomber puts on some afternoon coffee. Because the house is missing sugar, the Unabomber is forced to use pink cake sprinkles. The Unabomber wonders if there’s even a difference. 

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