he holds out the glass himself out of focus his mouth moves but no
sound comes out drowned out by dead air attempts at cleverness go unheeded
images flash but no one opens their eyes another day goes by but what has
changed repetition breeds muscle memory the movements(moments) become
automatic until he askes himself 'if things are the same as they were
when i came, did it all really matter' oh well, no one will remember me
anyway