Melinda gets up at five o’clock in the morning, day after day. Before unfolding her eyes, she is already an invisible person, crushed by the hideous dominated-industry scheme, verging on torment and intermittent deliriums. When my protagonist wakes from troubled dreams, she does not get out of a comfortable LAGUNA queen platform bed advertised on WALMART noticeboard — it is not up to her; money is always in short supply.
Making an effort to let her senses begin more distinctly, and declining to remember her last disturbing day, she realizes that her daily overload is starting, once again. No time to yawn. Or to stretch out. Only to leap forward, to breathe the severely polluted air, to turn on the PHILIPS light while her own lighted-guidance feels dreadfully parsimonious, and to subtly complain about her long-standing backache — unfortunately, she does not have that splendid AMERICANFLEX pure gold mattress. In the end, there is no escaping — she needs to start her excruciating journey.
Straight to the bathroom! Melinda looks at her bad reflection in the GUARDIAN mirror — no sweet dreams would have resonated down the years, those sweet dreams tasted for over a decade, so she savors the awful facts of her own disappointments, as unpalatable as they feel in reality, and with innocence losing ground, Melinda turns on the LORENZETTI faucet and washes her face with LUX light soap to cool off. Cleans her teeth with a toothbrush and a toothpaste, both by COLGATE-PALMOLIVE INC., while she dreams of taking a hot shower, being almost sure that it will not relieve her everyday pain.
And so she does the pressing needs: she turns on the FAME super douche, washes body and hair with a CASHMERE BOUQUET liquid soap, and finally dries herself with a soft TEKA towel. No pleasure. No whim. No redemption.