The windows of his office showed how much power he weilded. The view of a glorious cityscape, eighty floors up, flooding his work space. It allowed him to breathe. It opened up his thoughts, he felt free. So free, in fact, that He felt he could just jump through the glass. He found that those thoughts happened throughout his life. Especially in moments of stress. Stress was treated by him in one of many ways. The first way: drink. He would drink into a splendiforous stupor and labor around his office and even have full blown board meetings without so much as a memory of doing so. Second to drink: smoke. Smoking was blissful, it was controlled suicide. The noxious fumes inhaled and exhaled, going in and out like the wind, but packed with death and poison. He liked the way they made him feel, the zing of one too many excited his senses. His reward system was completely tweaked. You hurt, you drink, you bored, you smoke, you tired, you nap. His life had a benevolent simplicity. He worked in a haze, drove home in a haze, put his kids to bed and kissed his wife goodnight and then proceeded to drink and smoke late into the evening.