What time is it? I've stopped looking at the clock every two seconds. It was only making me more and more anxious. I step out onto the balcony and listen to the cars below instead. I breath in the toxic air and I think that I can feel the cells in my body crying out in pain as they shrivel up and one by one begin the process of completely demolishing my body.

I probably can't really feel that.

Tick tick tick. Time passes slower than I ever thought possible. I'm back inside and reading a book about a dog. Why are there so many books about dogs? What is people's obsession with dogs? They're nothing special. They're not man's best friend. Man's best friend is a man's best friend, not some canine asshole a man has to spend money and time and resources to keep alive.

I'm making assumptions about the way all men are again. I do this a lot. I guess that as I've grown up I've started to feel more and more disconnected from other people of my gender. People seem to think it's a bigger deal when you're a kid or a teenager. Because, it's true, children are brutal. They are equal to all the damning might of a military superpower, but without the capacity to know to stop when someone calls mercy.

But there's one thing all children have in common: they're children. You don't have that same child-like bond to an average, full-grown man. You can't hang out with him simply because you both happen to be full-grown men. And as such, they've become something of a mystery.

Or maybe you can and I'm just assuming again.

The truth is, I haven't had much contact with "average" men since Damien and I started working for the underground. No time for sociability, apparently. Even if what we're promoting is a sort of socialism.