There’s no food, he said. Nothing, he said to himself. An empty pot in the refrigerator once had soup in it. Now, nothing. It’s just an empty pot with stains. Some kind of tomato soup, I believe. Maybe it was a sauce. Not sure, the fat man examined it closer.

No beer. It’s all gone, he laughed. Thought I had a twelve pack. Old Style. I’m not sure. Could’ve been Milwaukee’s Best. I’d love a beer right now, his wrinkled hand closed the door.

He’ll be home soon, he continued. Bet he took it all. Eating me out of house and home. Doesn’t replace a God damned thing. Just takes. Money only goes so far, he paused. I’ll show him, he went to the closet and pulled out his shot gun. Barrel was empty. He didn’t have a bullet to his name. Thought he’d just scare the boy. Get him to act accordingly.

Boy came in and found the old man asleep in his recliner with the gun on his lap. TV was on. Some show about animals in the wild. Hunting each other. Marking their territory. Hyenas eating antelope. Making a hideous sound. The boy turned the volume down. Quietly he took the gun from his dad. Checked it. He laughed.

The kid pointed the gun right at the old man. Told him, Wake up, the old man was startled. Get up sleepy head, the boy ordered. Maybe I put a bullet in this gun, maybe I didn’t. We’re about to find out, he smiled. On the count of three. One…two…three…,the trigger clicked. The boy smiled. Next time you might not be so lucky.

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