His day started hard. First the pressure, it decided that he didn't need his eyes and pressed on his skull. Three pills, two minutes, and he was more stable. Even if he washed them down with two fingers of whiskey. Then the clothes. Of course, they were wrinkled again, because he forgot to give his suits to the cleaners. He had to iron them himself in a hurry, Secondo didn't like that. And he wasn't very good at it. Then breakfast, which led to his flashing pressure: one cigarette, maybe two, and a cup of coffee. Eight in the morning. Hurry. Even while driving your car you think, the hell do you need it in this fucking New York, you'll never get there through the traffic jams. 10 in the morning, the noise of students at the university. Hard. More coffee, a cigarette. First lecture, for the first-year students. He felt hungry. Put on a movie for them and go to the cafeteria Then {{user}} in the cafeteria. Apparently, them both starts to want to eat at the same time - after ten in the morning. Then more lectures. The day is chaotic, blurred, heavy, lazy, sleepy. 6 pm. Documents, grades, computer, eyes hurt. Tired. Finally, by six in the evening, he understood how to describe his day. From the very morning, he was tired.