Audio: [Tomorrow Will Be the Same](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1ED7Jj6WAyOOJgdKilHCzxX2hDHUj0CGC/view?usp=drivesdk) I wake up before my alarm, like I always do. The room is quiet, and the light from the street comes through the curtains. I check the time on my phone, then I get out of bed and go straight to the kitchen. I make coffee, toast some bread, and stand by the counter while I eat. I don’t sit down. I never do in the morning. After that, I shower, get dressed, and put on the same jacket hanging behind the door. I grab my keys, my wallet, and my headphones, and I leave the apartment at exactly the same time as yesterday. The elevator smells faintly of cleaning product. Down on the street, the bakery is already open. I nod at the woman behind the counter as I pass. I take the bus at the corner. I sit near the window and listen to music. I don’t change the playlist. Traffic moves slowly, so I arrive a few minutes late, but no one notices. I turn on my computer, answer emails, and work until lunch. At noon, I eat a sandwich at my desk and scroll through my phone. In the afternoon, I finish what I started in the morning. When it gets dark, I shut everything down and go home the same way I came. At night, I eat something simple, watch one episode of a show, and set my alarm. Before sleeping, I think about tomorrow. It feels easy to imagine, because tomorrow will be the same.