The sun came out tody, but I suppose that it does that every day down here in hell. If I went outside right now, I would probably die, so here I sit, nothing to do. I've heard that there are some places on this planet where the air is conditioned to the desired temperature of the building's occupants, but who knows. Only the sages speak of those places and times. Some still hope for better times, but most have given up; most have resigned themselves to silent sitting, silent sweating, silent death. It has been years since the environmental net was able to produce rain, and even longer since the last crops came in. In hell nothing lives, nothing grows, life has no meaning.