He listens to an mp3 of Hinder.

It's morning, and he just got in the office in his barong. As usual he came in sipping a tetri-pack of Chuckie, but instead of thinking of work, he's thinking about some game.

Feh. He never changes.

Today he again ponders on another silly decision. It bugs him that he couldn't make up his mind about it before. But now, it seems that sentence repeats again and again in his frayed brain.

There is nothing for me here.
There is nothing for me here.
There is nothing for me here.

Bah, go suck an egg.

Earlier this year, he wanted to get himself his own house or place or whatever.

But now ...

He is thinking of something else now: there is nothing for him here.

Originally, he thought of it as a foolish, lovesick notion to follow someone. Then he decided, this is something he must do for himself, and himself alone.

Tomorrow, he'll start doing something about it. This urban hermit wants to go away.