I have bronchitis. I’ve time for a Fiction in 58, before I pass out again.
That water in the bath is warm, and is just deep enough that when he submerges, he can breathe through his nose.
Air bubbles escape his ear cavities, ticklish, and the world is mute. He’s aware of the stereo, the street noise, but all he can hear is his blood, pulsing.
He is back to the womb, briefly.