Life. It [Continues]

Really, it was only just he and the headphones on his head and the stairs beneath his feet. And there was a brush in his hand and he was cleaning the stairs in an up and down, back and forth motion and the dirt was being swept up and pushed and prodded up into the air where it would rise so the particles could find each other in the air, make sweet love and babies and fall back down to the stairs together in unison.
Really, it was only just he and the headphones on his head and the thumps in the his ears and the tapping in his toes that caused him to clean the house and clean the house in a nonstop, back and forth motion so that by the time he realized what he was doing, the house was already clean. But he didn't know it when it was happening because he had music in his ears and an entirely maroon field of vision where not even a desperate dust bunny wailing away from the bristles of the destructive brush could distract him from his goal of clean steps.
Really, it didn't take much sweeping before he realized that nothing really puts him to ease like clean stairs beneath his feet and and thumps in his ears. And not even the worst of destructive trash monsters or the worst of wrecks and miserable situations would bother him as long as there were thumps in his ears and a great many number of songs lined up to be streamed and paraded into his head. With the greatest procession of music comes an even greater procession to life and life looks grand, real grand, when there is an endless, ceaseless procession of music thumping its way into the canals of the control station where all good things come.