Folding chairs standing in the corner. A lamp across from them. Two milk crates act as tables. Mattress on the floor.

Blinds are open, letting in sunlight on a cloudy day. Dust on the windows. He sits on the carpet like a Buddha of old. Bill Evans plays in the background. Not loudly, but soft. The fat man listens and goes into a transcendental state. He is calling on friends of old who have gone before him. He whispers their names; David, John, Michael, Gabriel, and Peter. He wants to see them one more time. Have tea and cakes with them. Perhaps a shot of whiskey. They are nowhere to be found. Their spirits have lifted higher than he can attain.

But he does see a light. The shining light everyone talks about when reaching life’s passage. If only for a fleeting moment.

His three hundred pound mass starts to lift from the floor. Take me now, Lord, he prays. Take me now.

But he is placed firmly back on the carpet. A voice is heard inside his soul. We have work to do fat man. We have work to do.