Something was wrong with the remote. No matter how many times Rock tried to switch from one streaming channel to another, all he could find were nonsensical choices, including one that offered him certain suffocation in either his den or kitchen or the empty and dark chill of his front yard. There was an incessant alarm blaring somewhere in his house that did little more than accentuate the unlimited, meaningless storage sites for unreachable streaming television shows.
Rock had seen things like this before, but he could not remember anything so bereft of hope. There was nothing to breathe, even outside, where earlier he felt the energetic, pastel-colored, good-willed life of a mid-October afternoon.
Maybe something to eat would help, Rock thought, though he was doubtful of a solution so simple.
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