With the harsh ringing sound jangling in your ear, you are dragged kicking and screaming from your feathered womb into the harsh light of another day.
Wrapped in ill-fitting but stylish rags, you stumble forth to face another Monday.
After consuming your drugs of choice, one to soothe the tormented soul, another to give you the will to live, you hurry to your appointed destination. You clock in, clock out; another life ruled by the damned clock, in an office full of people you loath.
Reaching home, you numb yourself with electronic hypnosis before crawling back under the feather womb.