Appetite

He had lost his appetite, where that had went to he had no fucking clue. Where had that went and, as well as that, he kept getting waves of existential heebie jeebies. Other than that he was great.
Whining. Always fucking whining about his own problems. As if he didn't have an easy life.
It was amazing the extent to which people took things for granted. Like existence, for example. Sensory perception. Concepts, semblances, precedents, patterns, consensus. He kept forgetting what fucking planet he was on. He kept drifting off into slow motion reveries of silent horror.
His happy place was autumnal. A dark late afternoon, supremely peaceful and quiet.
It was mysterious how a natural reserve could build up between people. It was just the opposite of when a natural accord occurred between people. It never seemed to happen with him. He disliked mostly everyone.