FOURTEEN
Monday morning, Alex is up bright and early. He goes to the kitchen and prepares the table with cutlery, crockery, cereal, milk and fruit juices for breakfast for all the family before taking a brisk eight kilometre run around the district. When he returns, he showers and changes into his work clothes just in time to greet Helen and the boys who have newly risen. He embraces them all, gulps down a glass of orange nectar and makes his way out to his car.
Following an uneventful journey, thirty minutes later he’s sitting at his desk, perusing his inbox of mail, emails and reports. He’s sipping from a plastic cup he’d filled at the vending machine, pondering what the contents might be. He remembers pressing for a black coffee, but discerning the composition of the sludge-like fluid
