The story I see in "Sleeper"

12/1
This is the story I see unfolding while I listen to "Sleeper" by Snarky Puppy. 

0:00

I see nothing. Only darkness. Now, a light. One ceiling light with one dim lightbulb. Yellow light passes through dusty air onto the back of a man. A black man, late twenties perhaps, though his face suggests I’m off by decades. He sits alone at a table. He leans forward, elbows on table, eyes forward. His bloodshot eyes stare out the window before him. All he sees is a brick wall. The city is quiet at this hour. It’s too late to be considered night, too early to be called morning. Dirty plates and empty bottles are not overwhelming, but stand out simply because the apartment is so empty otherwise. The man continues to stare. His face is blank. His soul is crying. He is alone.

What reeks? Is it anger? Is it fear? Is it loneliness? Is it abandonment?

0:58

His head falls to rest on his arms. His back rises as he takes in a deep breath. He sighs.

1:06

A crowded street. The sun has broken the horizon, but not the skyline. Cold air is stinging nostrils. Everyone is going somewhere. He walks, just another face in the crowd. Hands in the pockets of his worn out Carhartt jacket, the beanie hat keeping his ears and head warm. His soul has been muted for now. Life calls, and work must be done. 

1:27

Here he is at work. Physical labor. Outdoor. Building, rebuilding, destroying. He’s the creator of the city, but the city is his boss.

1:35

The sun has risen now. Work continues. Coffee has been consumed. Others are now doing their jobs. Hard work. Cold work. It has to be done. Starting to get into the swing of the day. Life is in full stride…

2:15

The soul is whispering. Or perhaps it’s screaming, but is muffled. Work continues. The soul is combatted with focus on the task at hand. 

2:23

Noon hasn’t even come yet, but the man has been working for several hours already. Now he is focused. Now he has a handle on things. The city is humming. It’s finally worked off the fog of sleep. It sings in harmony to his industriousness (2:30). Complete focus. Stress now, but no time for rest. Stress is good. Pressure is motivation. The city continues to rise. He’s help build it. The whole city is singing back to him now (2:59). His soul follows the city’s lead.

3:02

What the hell is this? He’s working like a maniac. Efficiency. He’s a machine. His body is automatically carrying out tasks. Yet, there is no more restraint on his soul. They have separated themselves. The body continues to work. The soul is in turmoil. The mind ignores it. The city still hums along (3:08). 

3:22

The city is roaring. It seems like every single person in the city has left themselves and is working full tilt. Souls have been disregarded. The day is burning on. The city is completely alive. Is anyone in it, though?

3:41

Darkness again. Here’s the same man, sitting at his table. Elbows on table, now head in hands. The bottle in front of him is empty (it has been for at least three days). The room seems empty. His face is blank, his eyes are bloodshot. Was that his stomach growling, or his soul? (3:51)

4:00

His soul is soul is tired. It’s desperate. Something’s gotta give. It’s praying without words to…something. Silence on the other end. He’s reaching his wit’s end. He remains silent. He has nothing to say to himself. His soul continues to beg. 

4:33

His face animates. A furrowed brow, flared nostrils, quivering lip. Now rage. Now anguish. He jumps from his seat, flipping table, sending bottle flying. He turns to face the wall, beating both fists against it. His head rests against it as well. He’s weeping. He falls to his knees, body shaking. Tears fall profusely from his cheeks. He’s alone. Just for one moment, the city seemed to follow his lead. Now it’s slipping back to itself, out of his hands. 

4:48

A crowded street again. Another day. Cold air, stinging nostrils and eyes. Everyone else is going to work. Everyone else feels the sting. Yet, the sun seemed to be a little brighter, a little higher today. Spring must be only weeks away. Maybe. The city is alive again. Back to work. Efficiency. The soul is fighting. It’s drowning. It’s thrashing like a caged lion. The city tries to drown out the soul’s voice, but it’s screaming now (5:48). This is war.