He was immersed in the hum-drum of everyday life,
his Mondays bleeding into his Tuesdays, just as it had for fifty-five years.
Protected by his shining armor of ignorance,
he was untouchable.
What he didn't know, couldn't hurt him,
and what he did know, taught him that he didn't desire to know anymore.
He liked to sit behind his desk, and drink his coffee,
and read what he was told to read and type what he was told to type.
And every night, he would sit at the same bar,
quietly drinking his glass of Jack and Coke.
What he never noticed, however,
was that as his days bled, so did he.
And this is how a man died,
while his heart still beat to that familiar hum-drum.