Chuck's eyes flung open, his hand, felt around for his gun. He gripped it, stood up and put the gun in his boxers to hold for now.

He pulled on the half dirty pair of jeans, and switched the gun to his jean pocket.

He remembered where he was and what was going on immediately. He checked out the cracks in the windows, no movement yet.
He grabbed an apple out of his private stash, before grabbing a gun and heading off for a morning stog.

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I remain in a state of constant departure while always arriving.