Waking up he did not recall it was any day different than the rest. It was however, his least favorite of the 365. He had grown dislike for the holiday for experiencing 19 times as only a spectator. Leaning on the glass that separated him from the participants, wiping away the moisture that always seems to form when viewing a thing of importance. He tries to understand through observation.

Something tripped his memory as he cleared through the morning's fog. And up rose a sigh of disdain  and disappointment. Later turning into anger and protest against all participants of the wretched day. As he prepared the days attire, choosing black pants, a dark hoodie and black socks to match his black shoes. He noticed a red shirt in the forefront of his closet. Draped loosely on a black hanger, as if put there in a hurry without any special care.  A shirt which had been bought many years earlier had been worn to work, play and bed. It was torn, stained and stretched out. He took it up, shook it out, and it became his uniform for the day.