It was sort of difficult to tell the date in the wasteland. People tried to keep up for a bit, and they got pretty far, but it didn’t always work out that way. Days tended to blend. And with all the bad habits going around, they sometimes skipped in a blink anyways. There was no reason to keep up, anyways; it wasn't like there was anything to look forward to.

But, somehow, Cooper knew. It was this innate feeling within him, a softness he was unable to get rid of, no matter how hard he chipped at it. He, somehow, knew what day it was.

His birthday.

As the moon reached it’s peak over the little camp, he knew. He poked at the smoldering rocks with a stick. Another year. How many was that now? Did it matter? He supposed not.