Disdaining Fire

He woke this morning, cold. He thought he heard the music of a previous night. There was the taste of sour wine in his mouth, which once was sweet. What was left could be washed out with water. The clocks had all stopped.

There was broken glass all over the floor. The cat lifted one eyelid reproachfully. There was a faint beeping sound in the distance, as if someone's heart rate monitor had broken down from nervous tension. Caffeine was in his veins, and the triumph of cognitive stimulus made free of charge and not illegal like the others. The Economist said so, and he believed. It was all too fast. He could not sustain the flow. It would drown him and his bones would be coral and Guildenstern and Rosencrantz were dead and...

Then he awoke.