But what if this was hell? What else would hell look like, if not as an absence of all meaning? He suddenly felt like a condemned man, sentenced to live his disjointed life outside the bonds of family, purpose and love. However much his now husband might hurt from his jealousy and insecurity, at least he could feel human emotions. He lived a story, good or bad, where things happened because of other things. He instantly resented this man, who was a complete stranger, for loving him and having his happiness tied to his whims. They weren’t even his whims, he mused. Whose whims were they, really? Who decided, when a random door opened, whether it was just another door or it led back to the muzak lounge?