Mike Webb woke up feeling anxious. This was not a new feeling for him. On most days, there was a barely controlled anxiety that thrummed, low and steady, just beneath the surface. This anxiety, though, was made of sterner stuff, and it percolated throughout his entire body as he slowly went through his morning routine. By the time that he pulled his sweater over his button down shirt, and smoothed his hands down his khaki pants, though, Mike had managed to tamp it down enough so that he felt that he could function as he went through his day.

Mike decided to forgo breakfast, (his stomach was just too upset) but he did have a small glass of milk. He washed the glass, dried it carefully, and placed it back into its customary position inside the cabinet. He then dried the sink, sorted through a few bills and put them into neat stacks on his desk, and, on his way out of the apartment, made a mental note that there was a small stain on the carpet by the front door that he would need to scrub when he got home.

On the way to his car, a neighbor waved to him. Mike nodded quickly and looked immediately down at his feet. He had never felt comfortable making small talk with people, and almost always went out of his way to avoid it if he could. His girlfriend, Karen, gently poked fun of him, pointing out that, if not for her pursuit of him, he would never have spoken a single word to her. What made Mike sad was knowing that she was right.

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