He wakes up in the morning in a tiny room that almost feel like a cell with a small glass window and an old tilted door. He didn’t expect a different scene when he falls asleep last night or the day before that or before either he knows things wont change in a blink of an eye , a moment we call sleep. unless something out of ordinary happens like a miracle and he surly knows miracles are not for him miracles are for the lucky ones he never was a lucky one. He didn’t want to think about that now . he walks up to his old small window that he likes to look through on the morning and watches the outside of his home. There is nothing except some dead men walking , walking to their planned life called death and his hazy reflection of him self at the same time on the tiny window , he stays there for a while and suddenly smashes the glasses with his bare hands and he almost didn’t feel nothing he was a bit excited, hyped, ready for a new day with his smile on his face while he is cleaning the blood from his hands.