The sun was still down when he woke. He fumbled for his phone to check the time. Four more hours.
Disgusted, knowing he would be unable to get back to sleep, he got up and trudged wearily from his small bedroom and out the unlocked front door of the prefab house. Both moons were visible, bluish marbles hanging low in the sky.
I can’t take it anymore. He’d crack eventually: break down, go mad, heart attack, something.
He wouldn’t be the first. Last month, woman killed her husband, both kids. Some people simply can’t adjust to a thirty hour day.