He was fully dressed, yet sprawled in his bed. Someone would say 'ready to commence his working day', though Nick didn't feel ready at all and day turned into unproductive due to his inability to get up. Sprawled, though, was not a good word, though. It evokes image of someone relaxed, lazily stretching, enjoying their day off. Nick didn't enjoy at all. It was too hot under all the layers of covers, blankets, duvets and tracksuit with sweater. He was sweating and his feet itched. Some people drink to forget. Others to remember. Nick was laying from desperation, not laziness or boredom.
Neither coffee nor whiskey nor whine nor beer nor cigarette nor joint nor computer game nor facebook nor unlimited scrolling of porn sites, nothing, nothing, nothing could comfort Nick like the ball of warmth under the covers. As long as he was tucked in the bed, despite itch and sweat, he was safe. World could cease to exist.
World did cease to exist.
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