Originally Posted by One Day In The Life Of Ivan Denisovich
Shukhov felt pleased with life as he went to sleep. A lot of good things had happened that day. He hadn't been thrown in the hole. The gang hadn't been dragged off to Sotsgorodok [settlement]. He'd swiped the extra gruel at dinnertime. The foreman had got a good rate for the job. He'd enjoyed working on the wall. He hadn't been caught with the blade at the searchpoint. He'd earned a bit from Tsezar that evening. And he'd bought his tobacco.
The end of an unclouded day. Almost a happy one.
Just one of the three thousand six hundred and fifty-three days of his sentence, from bell to bell.
The extra three were for leap years.