Tell me about the man who lives underground.

Tell me how he wakes up. Tell me how he makes his bed, picks his clothes, ties his shoes. Tell me how he eats his breakfast. Tell me how he eats his breakfast sitting in the dark with no light to guide his movements. Tell me how he washes his dishes; does he wash them himself, or does he have a dishwasher? Tell me how he digs his way out of his home every day. Tell me about the dirt underneath his yellowed nails as he tries, tries, tries oh so hard to make it to the top.

Tell me how he stops. Tell me how he looks at the top. Tell me how he stops. Tell me how he turns away. Tell me how he gets ready for bed; unties his shoes, takes off his clothes, gets in his bed. Tell me how he closes his eyes and dreams.

Then tell me how he wakes up again.