 A solitary man in a meticulous house is wakened by several alarm clocks set to ring simultaneously. It s soon apparent that he lives an ordered life, down to the time set aside for a breakfast of a single egg. That morning he s distracted by a sock that s gone missing, but he leaves in time for work, narrating his life in single words as he goes - "eat," "umbrella," "stairs." Outside the house, he bangs his head on a box unloaded by movers on the sidewalk. Out cold, he dreams of a lad (himself years ago), watching as the events that gave birth to his Kantian habits are revealed to him. Will he awaken with insight and self-awareness, or is this the end?