From Z7:
Instead he lay there, a specimen in a freak zoology experiment, while his phone buzzed and stung and he ignored everything from the outside. Light smacked aggressive shadows onto the walls.
On the third day, out of food and realizing he would be required to leave his studio for lunch, Danny set out to take a shower.
The whole process was a farce. The tiny bathroom barely had room for his fat frame, and his feet splayed on cracked, moldy tiles. The mirror showed him a pale, androgynous slug, more gelatinous than marshmallow, and his hair retreated from his forehead in slick, choppy disarray. As he peed, he scratched his butt until he realized how fat it was. Everything seemed green. Roddy was dead. He deserved all the shit he was in.
Danny gave himself one last look, pulling down his lower eyelid to expose the red blood vessels underneath. Rather than take the shower, he left the bathroom and limped over piles of clothes and back to bed.
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