Winter Solstice: no solace to be found on a chilly work morning

He stares at the damp patch on the far wall, trying to remember when he had opened his eyes. He twists out of the strangle of blankets and steps on his ash-tray. In the kitchen the plastic windows show the slate grey sky's cold darkness and the alien eyes of the digital clock read 04:17.

He picks out the chocolate that was stuck to the top of his mouth and dropped his first cigarette into the dregs of bitter coffee. The blue hue of his phone scans emails onto his wall, just two, bills. He moves out of their way and knocks back the rest of his coffee, forgetting the smouldering stub.

Sat in his car, he rolls down the stiff window and chimneys a cigarette out the gap. He turns on his phone again and skims through Facebook and all the people he can see still see but never hears. He inspects the picture of that girl he used to talk to and her new boyfriend.