Blinds closed. There’s not much light coming in. The fan above gives off a cool breeze. Dust is blown off tables and lamps. A pile of dirty clothes sits in the bedroom; piled high in a basket. Nothing has been washed in months. Nothing has been cleaned in years. Crumbles of tortilla chips and popcorn stick to his feet as he walks across the floors. An old easy chair with black blood marks on it. The old man sits in it. He flips through television shows; The Price Is Right, Jeopardy, Wheel Of Fortune, Let’s Make A Deal. He snickers at the losers. Taunts them from the comforts of his trailer home. The cat box is overflowing.

He looks outside his small window in the door. Cut out in a square. He sees kids playing dodgeball. They’re throwing the ball at one another; hard and fast. One boy falls to the pavement. He is bombarded with balls. A whole group of boys hit him with rubber balls as hard as they can. It brings the child to tears. The old man laughs. He yells out things like, Smear the queer. Get him.

Soon, the boys put the balls down and start throwing rocks at the kid. Then bricks they find in the old man’s yard. One picks up a two by four and swings wildly until there is no response. The boy lies in the street. Silent. Gasping for air till none is left inside of him.

The old man closes the shade and goes back to watching television.