4:19 in the morning.

He slept for a few hours. Mattress on the floor. A bed roll for cover. He looked up at the ceiling. Dark. Little light coming from a bathroom’s cracked door. Kept looking at the fan. It used to work, he whispered. Used to, he lit a cigarette from a pack sitting on a folding chair beside his bed along with eye- glasses and a cheap lighter. Shadows were cast on walls. He made a pair of bunny ears with two of his fingers. Here comes Peter Cottontail. Hopping down the bunny trail, he sang in a hushed tone. The house was quiet.

The folding chair was used to pull himself off his bed. His fat body struggled to get to his feet. He stood unbalanced. Always thought his weight would tip him over. Inhaled smoke and blew it out quickly. Felt dizzy in the head. Remembered when his dad died. Said he was feeling dizzy. And then fell to the floor. The man paused. Began walking to the kitchen. Walking in darkness.

Light from the refrigerator revealed some items he’d bought awhile ago. Out of date sliced turkey. A jar of vinegar that once had pickles in it. A day old pot of pasta. Four beers; Pabst Blue Ribbon. He opened one. Took a long drink. Crispness of the liquid tickled the back of his throat. Took another drag from his cigarette and opened the shades. A harvest moon lit the sky. He smiled. It was no longer dark.

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