Gary is forty and hates his life. He has a beautiful wife and he hates her. Six adoring children; hates them too. Whoever thought six was a good idea, Gary decided, should be shot. He doesn’t understand his job but he hates it. He sits at a desk in a cubicle and stares at a screen. In meetings, he looks down and nobody calls on him. He could leave, he thinks to himself every single morning when his alarm rings. He hates his alarm. He could pack a bag. Head for Hawaii, never look back. He could work as a diving instructor and drink fancy cocktails out of coconuts. But he won’t. Every morning he stares at the ceiling and thinks it, but knows he cannot do it. He’d hate Hawaii anyway. Getting up for another day, he reads the paper without really reading it and eats his toast.