There is too much time. Days and nights grow longer. Sleep is short. A train rolls by under the black ink sky. And, he sits there in a wooden chair waiting for time to go by.

In the end there is nothing. We take no possessions with us. Bodies burned to ash. He is alone. Thinking of the past. A lifetime thinking of the past. What has he attained over the years? Some books, coffee pot, twin bed, a pillow to rest his head. These are the items he has. This is what he owns. Who will he bequeath them to? No one. All will be tossed in a back alley dumpster. He knows this. He knows.

The sun is a warning. Another day has begun. The orange star’s light breaks through the window. No shades. Just a closed window. It’s always been shut. Keeping out fresh air. Smells from the outdoors. A child’s voice is muffled. He waits. Drinking coffee. Old cold coffee made days ago. There is no cream. No milk. Just a black substance. The sun warms the room. But, he does not smile. Nor does he cry. His memory is like a movie. Just rolling pictures of places he’s lived. Towns he has traveled through. And, in each town the man was always followed by the sun and moon. What is he waiting on? The sun to burn out? The moon to no longer shine? Just dark. Maybe he’d prefer it to be dark.

Seated in his chair. His feet firmly on the floor. Back straight up against the wooden rods. His head falls forward. Body bounces on the tiles. He’s waited long enough. Day has turned to night.

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