Scenario: He switches off the TV, the phone, the radio. Closes his mind, puts on some 50s music.
Maybe puffs a smoke or two and reclines. Smiles a little, even. No guns, no bombs. Nothing is real. That assignment is due tomorrow.
An inner voice cackles. Who're you trying to kid?
His heart jumps into his throat; his stomach bolts down. A bead of sweat trickles down his pallid face.
Keep breathing. Tomorrow is important.