Curtains for Curtains

"Living so close to the Flaxen Anger is going to be dangerous."
Jack thought as he staggered home too early to be doing so. It was a long day and a short night, förlägenheten av hans sommar ankomst.
Tomorrow would come too soon, at five, or earlier -- with the sunrise and he pondered with darkened trepidation the prospects of his forced encounter with sommars dagen tidigt ljus ... knowing another long day would follow... meeting after meeting. Jack needed his keys, his mode of entrance and so much information -- taxes, conditions, a description of his responsibilities. It was difficult to think just now but Malloy, or Bloom, perhaps some character from Proust was trying to find the glue. What made him come to K-town, to this place, what made him want to stay. (etc.) He smiled at not knowing a damn thing...

As predicted, Jack awoke too early again and watched the sun emerge from behind the five-story apartment building across the courtyard. It was silent but for hungry birds clamoring for a breakfast gleaned from the moist patch of lawn.

"All is well."
he thought, falling now into a proper routine of daily busyness. Of business; of sustaining, though as yet suspect purpose. He would skip the pub the next night, writing instead, working instead despite it being a Friday. He didn't want to drink alone just yet, still feeling self-conscious about difference, about language. Even the mundane service questions made him nervous ... though he sometime understood full well what was being asked, Jack had not the skills to respond -- without elaborate mental activity involving translation to and from his and their native tongues. It was only a matter of time, he thought, before this anxiety would subside and some other mode of nervousness would emerge. His horoscope confirmed this, letting him know what he already knew. He must replace the inherited curtains.