The room was well lit by sunlight coming through blinds. Shadows of bookshelves on the floor. An outline of a television on the wall. And above him, a ceiling fan rotated at a high speed. A cool breeze was felt. His body stretched out in an easy chair with the foot rest up; his bare feet with untrimmed nails shine in the light. A remote control dangled from his fingertips.

It was early morning when the kid came home. The slamming of the car door woke the old man. He’d been out all night, causing trouble. A typical evening for the kid; got high before he left the house, sold a couple of dime bags, went to the bar, and ordered beer for the rest of the night; watched baseball games and old movies with John Wayne in them. He sat there dreaming that he was the Duke in Rio Bravo; riding a horse. Shooting men who needed to be shot.

The old man put the foot rest down and let his feet touch the dirty shag carpet. Hadn’t been vaccuumed in years. Not since his wife died. Some say it was an accident. Others said he meant to do it. His gun was always on the table next to his chair; loaded. He said he was asleep and was awakened by a noise in the kitchen. He fired in the dark. Heard her cry out while blood dripped on the floor. He was smiling the whole time.

Where did you go tonight? the old man asked.

Same as every night, boy lit a cigarette. Grabbed an Old Style from the fridge.

When you going to get serious about something? Bite into something real?

You mean like you?

Thirty years I worked at GM. Putting in bolts. You think I complained? Never heard a word, did you? Got to apply yourself in this life. Can’t go on selling dope forever.

You done?

I am.

Well, goodnight.

Goodnight.

The plant in the window was dead. Nothing was tended to. Grass was never mowed. And, in the winter, snow was never shoveled. There were cobwebs in corners. The old man put his feet back up in the air. Picked up the pistol from the table. Pointed it at his head and laughed.