In a half-illuminated corner of his apartment, Matthew slowly lowered a thin slice of cheesecake into his mouth. It was a good slice of new york, so think you could drop it in the street and the tarmac would crack. It tasted of the quark cheese matthew could still smell on his fingers, an essential ingredient specially imported from wisconsin, along with the thousand or so dairy products shipped daily to supermarkets around the world. Matt breifly grinned as he imagined the sort of people who would transport this stuff, before finishing off the slice and getting up to wash his hands.

Matt walked out of his bathroom and turned left, straight into the large room full of computer hardware spinning at full peak. It smelled like an oven in there, and -Matt thought - Not one where pigs and cows came to be turned into so much mince. No, an oven that large and that hot would only be used once, before being declared a war crime. Mat sat down, and for a brief moment wondered why he was wearing gloves. He pulled them off, and pulled up a keyboard. 

---

Matt stared at the screen through half-lidded eyes. They felt like spike-studded gelatine. But he had finally managed to write the documentation and work out a few little kinks in one of the subroutines that kept throwing exceptions. He smiled, and slouched off the uncomfortable chair and onto the nice, soft, confortable bed. It had a lovely wollen design his mom had made and sent over, and had almost been singed by city limits control guards trying to fumigate it for drugs. It absobed him like a sponge.