You wake up and the calendar says February 2nd.
You are awakened by a radio alarm, which your roommate jokingly set on an oldies station, days before.
The sweet melody of Sunny and Cher blasting in the background enrages you.
The skies are cloudy, while a bustling crowd rapes a woman outside in broad daylight.
"Typical", you think. "They ain't even ask me to join."
You start to get deja vu, even though you think it's a feminine product.
"I've done this before. Over and over.", you mutter to yourself.
That's when you realize that nothing ever changes.
You are living the same day over and over again.
Furiosity and despondency overcome you.
You remember that Skampoe is dead, but you don't know why.
You are all alone.
Smoke some formaldehyde
Go to bed