3:07 am. Bright green letters glare back at him. Casting a dull shadow on the table, on his fingers. He rolls over. With the blanket he is too warm, with it off, he shakes. A gravelly noise erupts from his stomach, claps his hands over his navel though the bed is empty. Decides to leave his feet uncovered, closes his eyes.

4:28 am. Rolls over. Feet like ice, Charlie pulls his knees to his chest. Closes his eyes, concentrates on breathing. In, out. Exactly even, strict precision, and he tries to feel heavy, to sink into sleep. He thinks he could walk on water.

4:57. Wants to throw the clock against the wall. Tucks his hands under his thighs, stares at the ceiling, charcoal in this light. It has three cracks, vaguely resembling the creases on his palm. Announces loudly, "Three minutes, and then I'll get up." No one argues.

5:00 am. An incessant ringing, a "Fuck" and Charlie's feet thump as they hit the cold floor. Bangs his shoulder on the door trying to find the shower, fumbles for the light switch. Stares at his eyes, his hair, his teeth, his skin. Scratches his cheek while turning the water on.

5:06. The water pressure is non-existent. He thinks, at least it's warm. Remembers how Zoey's skin turned pink in the steam. An iguana in a room of chameleons ends up being the one that stands out. Scrubs his own skin, erases yesterday's armor and paints on today's with Deena's bar of soap. Pink, slippery. She'll be angry at him again.

5:29. His toe pokes through the tip of his sock. Puts his shoe on regardless, double knots the laces. Reaches instinctively for the key to the bike, remembers only when his hand returns empty that today's ride is thanks to Samantha from the Scheduling Office. Kicks his sister's door instead of knocking, "You're going to be late!" A groan in response, he walks through the front door.

6:17 am. CJ stops by to drop off the schedule, four pages, separated by bullet-points. He wonders who came up with that term. Decides not to ask the President. Sits down to work, and wishes, momentarily, that he were someone else. Reminds himself how lucky he is as he draws circles on Presidential stationary.

2:26 pm. Supposed to be finding Josh, but his stomach is in revolt. Donna looks at him, eyes wide, "When was the last time you ate something?"

"October, 1998."

Wide sympathetic smile, she babbles, "My friend Susan divides my life into before-Josh and after-Josh, which is sort of cute, and I suppose true, but--"

"Where is he?"

9:25 pm. The President is in the residence. Puts his pens in order, blue next blue and black next to black. Shuts all drawers. Someone else turns out the lights. Sam is giving him a ride home, feels like he is under house arrest. Doesn't argue. They mean well. It's just, he feels heavy at all the wrong times.

2:23 am. Bright numbers break the darkness. Three cracks in the ceiling. Says quietly, "Tomorrow is another day."