At home he stood facing east and stared down out of the window of his apartment. A slow commercial train casually rolled by. It’s rumbling  sound vibrated the building, and he lost himself in its rolling march. He tried to be sad. He tried to be miserable, but again found a resilience to question, and then he found it giving way to a desire to surrender. He was being pushed down. His actions were forcibly being chloroformed. It was all because he saw how predictable his life had become, how unbelievable asinine it had come to. It was all leading to a constant state of instability. Suspended there. Not quite destroying him, but just dangling him through its fissures and pulling him back up just to do it again. He wanted to know. 

He nosed around enough to stumble into understanding this great farce. The contents of his life, everything that made up the story was a conglomerate of bad consistencies and finally a sever devoid of interpretation.  Just like this train that was  rolling along, it was a  hard formidable band of nothing. His only revelation? Was that this all belong to him. It was his for however long he needed to be delivered from it. It didn’t belong to his friends or it wouldn’t be something that he could use to make these latest developments go away. His interpretation was only going to be in how to see it all and not in what actions to take. His action only created more bad, only more arresting. What does is it mean? Hugh would ask. He would stand there and only ask what does it all mean, but he would try again to just stop himself there. Right there.