You think when you wake up in the mornin yesterday don't count. But yesterday is all that does count. What else is there? Your life is made out of the days it’s made out of. Nothin else.

The speaker rejects the comforting idea that each morning offers a clean slate. Instead, he insists that the past—“yesterday”—is what truly constitutes a life: accumulated days, choices, and consequences that cannot be undone or replaced by intention. The blunt, colloquial phrasing underscores a hard determinism: identity is not a plan or a hope but a record. The line also carries a moral weight typical of McCarthy’s fiction, where characters are haunted by what they’ve done and what has been done to them; the present is inseparable from memory and aftermath. In this view, meaning resides in lived time, not in abstract futures.