His name was Foxwell.
However, he had always gone by Max.
He couldn't recall why this was, nor did he really care it seemed, it just had always been that way for as long as he could remember. People called him max, and he responded. Simple as that.
No one said his name much anymore. Max was a lonely man. A man who kept to himself, who shut the shades on sunny days, and only got up in the morning because he knew that was what he was supposed to do. Wake up, survive the day, go to sleep. Just like his name, he couldn't remember a time where it wasn't that way.
This particular Monday started no differently. He woke up to the sound of the 6 o'clock train, carrying passengers on their destinations to who-knows-where in the busy city. Max certainly didn't know, nor did he ever think about it. The only thing that registered in his mind was that he was awake now, as always. Just as he would get out of bed as always.
He could hear rain on the rooftop of his apartment building, which to him meant it was alright to open the shades. As he did, the pale gray light of a rainy summer day outlined his body. The silhouette was no less depressing than the day into which Max looked. It was emotionless, almost without life. A description which also resembled the man's face. His lips were drawn into a thin line. His eyes as gray as the light which reflected off of them.
He stared for a while, but he wasn't actually looking at anything out of that window. Now, in most cases when people do that, they are deep in thought about something they can't get off their mind. This, however, was not the case for Max. Not a single unusual thought crossed his mind. Conscious was the best word to describe him.
Time passed. By some sort of instinct Max always knew when it was time to do things without looking at the clock. Whether it was from doing the same thing over and over everyday, or some 6th sense the man had somehow acquired, he always knew what he had to do, exactly when he had to do it.
8:30 was the time to get dressed.
Tidiness was never a priority. All of his pairs of black pants were well folded and put inside a drawer beside his bed, and every one of his suits was hung neatly and properly in the closet, but this was more because he was never in a rush to be anywhere. He just had the time to put everything away where it belonged.
The first sound to break the silence of his room was the buzzing of an electric razor. Max believed in keeping himself well shaven, and never allowed his facial hair to grow for more than a day.
The next sound was of the key turning in the lock as he shut the door of his apartment behind him. He knew it was unnecessary to lock the door. Who would break in? What would they even find? It was more of a habit to lock it than anything else.
But today he did lock something inside. Nothing of any particular value to anyone, not even to Max. He would never really realize it, but that day he locked himself in that room.
Today was a big day for max.
Today was grocery day.
