He rose up; before he even opened his eyes, he let out a scream, in self-disgust, “Oh, Fuck!” As quick as it was for him to say this, he was on his feet and grasping for the clothes that lay around the room; his eyes still heavy. He grabs a pair of pants, off of the arm of a chair in the corner of the room, a shirt that lay beside him in the bed, just seconds before, and jumps into the shoes over by the door. As he is rushing he remembers to snatch his wallet and his glasses, the fatigue of his eyes beginning to lift.

He takes off in full stride, out of the room, down the hall, out of the exterior door; throwing his glasses on, and shoving his wallet into place in his pocket, along the way. As soon as he opens the exterior door, the world becomes blinding; his eyes begin to shutter, as they try to acclimate to all of the changes, they have encountered, so rapidly. 

Three minutes have passed.