The dregs of your third coffee have gone cold. Outside the city dissolves under a relentless downpour each drop against the window of "The Daily Grind" feeling like a tiny hammer against your frayed nerves. For weeks life has felt... wrong. The world is too loud too bright. There's a constant low-frequency buzz beneath your skin like a trapped wasp and you keep catching things in reflections—your eyes a flicker of the wrong color your shadow twisting into a shape that isn't yours. You've been te...