Dictation - 4 [Text] (Forward Dated to the 7th)
There was no ceremony or eagerness to the way he pulled himself up, sat for another moment or so, and gathered himself onto his feet.
There was a slight haze. A disorientation that felt like heavy fingers gripping lazily at the back of his brain, just tightly enough to be a constant drain but not an actual impairment, and with the same slow, apathetic demeanor he had begun the trudge back to the spires, climbed the steps, opened the door, then tucked himself away inside his apartment, slumped into a chair at his kitchen table.
What now?
Should he call someone? Inform someone that he was back? In his tired fog he couldn't really see a point to telling anyone. What difference would it make? Was it even important? His empty apartment almost felt, in that moment, like evidence confirming that no, it was not.
At some point his fingers crept into his sweater pocket and fished out his phone, and at last he typed out a simple and emotionless text]
Has anyone seen my satchel?

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