Trico opened his eyes with the morning taste smeared on his tongue and palate. A combination of cheap lemon juice, milk and mud. The taste also had a fowl smell attached to it, circulating freely between his mouth and the inside of his nose. Facing the ceiling with half-open eyelids he remembered one smart-looking guy on TV with white robe, expensive glasses and a soft voice joyfully explaining to him that, during the night, bacteria take a dump on your tongue and that is why he should buy this cool new tongue gel to kill the inconsiderate poopers. But why was the guy so happy about this, Trico couldn't figure out.

He didn't want to face all this just now. He puffed up his pillow, closed his eyes and tried to resume his sleep. He wanted his dreams back, where things don't smell and don't taste like anything. But his mind was already up and running, demanding attention, just like an annoying 5-year-old pressing you for ice cream . It was pulling him up, pushing him towards his life.