When Luca arrived home, he felt exhausted. He had completely wasted both of his days off.
The greater purpose of setting things right deserved the effort—if only it had worked.
It was still afternoon. He could at least get some sleep.
He took a cool shower and lay on his bed after pulling all the curtains to shut out the light. He closed his eyes and tried breathing exercises to fall asleep faster. They usually worked. After three cycles, he saw no results. His heartbeat seemed uneven.
Then he tried his other trick: reciting the script of one of the worst movies he had ever made—so bad the film had been removed from all streaming platforms, and scrubbed from his filmography. In one scene, he’d had a ridiculous monologue, a recollection of the character’s past lives. He would have erase
