The suburban loser has trouble sleeping. He tries sound machines, eye masks, earplugs, supplement pills, special diets, bedtime routines, exercises, meditations, visualizations, and prayers. He tosses and turns while his wife sleeps like a baby. After hours of feeling the oscillating fan in the corner blow back and forth across his stomach, the suburban loser admits defeat and retreats to the computer in his home office. Bathed in brilliant white light, he plays solitaire, reviews the notes of municipal budget meetings, and reads unconfirmed reports of climate groups using drones to control the weather. As the sun rises, the shadowed figures across the street slowly give way to large cars in the driveway, children's toys scattered over the lawn, leveled grass, yellow fire hydrants, backyard trees poking over rooftops, and showers of early morning sprinklers. This is how the suburban loser truly begins his days, often walking into the kitchen to eat cold cuts out of the deli bag before his family wakes up.