Kalan leaned against the wall as he fastened his tie, watching his wife still fast asleep, ignoring the sunlight that shone viciously at the bed through the open curtains.
The man perfected his tie, pressed the small button on the wall that moved the curtains back partially closed and then walked out of the room, into the dining room they used to use on the second floor. He programmed the Chef-Machine, ordered himself a cup of coffee and a croissant, then a glass of orange juice for his wife.
The man sat for a moment at the dinner table, finished his breakfast in five minutes checking the stock market, then returned to his room, placing the glass of orange juice he ordered on the nightstand beside the bed. He took out a notepad and a pen—things that nowadays have almost become a rarity because everyone prefers to use computers and communicators, maybe even many people have forgotten how to write by hand.
