The delicate strumming of the bass ends the silence of the night with a soft but deep note that brings me back to consciousness. “Beautiful Morning With You” by Pillows fills my ears like the soft sunlight filtering through my window shutters, bringing light into my dark world. I am effortlessly awake. The gentle beating of cymbals dispels the ethereal world of dreams around me. The strumming of the guitar strings returns insistently, prompting me to slowly open my eyelids as I find my way back from dreamland. As I sit on the edge of the bed, my vision blurred, the dreamy singer's clear voice brings the light of day to full realization. A soft synthesized electric guitar enters and plays a colorful melody, a musical representation of the dreamy haze slowly fading away. The singer's voice increases in volume to match the wave of music that wafts through the morning mist. My world speeds up and it's all a blur as I go through the motions of my morning routine punctuated by an energetic singer accompanied by a frenetic guitar beat and frenetic drums. The clanging of cymbals pumps pure energy through my veins and my morning flows away. A harmonious clash and the last clear notes of the singer die away and suddenly I find myself sitting on the transit, everything moves once again in a quiet rhythm, the guitar once again takes up its rhythmic strums that slowly push my day forward . I look out at the passing landscape, bathed in the morning light. The ethereal sounds of a backing guitar lounge dreamily like the trees slowly passing outside. The tranquil sound of constant tempo guitar strums brings peace to my day. Before I know it, I arrive at my destination and get off. As soon as my foot hits the ground, the... center of the paper... can rest in peace. The heavy instruments cease their mourning calls leaving only a somber guitar and the singer's parting words. At the end of the eulogy, the singer bursts into a plaintive cry. The wailing of the guitarists is unleashed as a barrage of notes are torn through their guitars, fingers tearing at the guitar strings as blood forms the guitar's crimson tears. The war drums sound with primal fury and beat down the skies as the sky pours rain. As the singer says his final farewells, the guitars and drums slowly lower the tempo, returning to the heavy opening riff. As the song took hold in the world and the final notes of the guitar faded away, I turned away from the bin. As I looked up at the dark sky, I noticed that the rain was increasing. I started to walk away from the basket and put on my hood. It was just a cup of coffee.