he sits on a low chair by the corner of his rectangular studio flat. grabs his cigarette pack and lights the last stick on the case. once again, he drowns himself in deep thought. he gives a quick glance to the clock above his television. it said 6 am. oh f***. he shakes his head, a mild worry painted on his face. another sleepless night.
7am. the warm sun rays cooked her face pink. she could feel the cool breeze of the early morning on her cheeks, disturbed occassionally by the rickety yet reliable blows from her 2 yr old electric fan. as she turns to stop her screaming alarm clock, her body is bathed in fresh sunlight. the clock says 7am. she lets out a contented smile. she just had the best 8 hr sleep of her life.

