Cobwebs. Dust. Sun glares in from behind broken blinds. Lampshades on crooked. Wires split.

The folding chairs were stacked in the corner. Rips in cushions. A Graceland sticker stuck to the back of one of them. Christmas wrapping paper taped to the back of another. A dark brown spot on the carpet.

A hole in the roof let in rain water. Buckets half full. Rust in the kitchen sink. A moldy mop in the corner.

He looked around this house of his. How did I lose control of this? he asked himself.  Years pile up, and you don’t give a damn. No money to fix it, he laughed. It’ll go away some day, he said. Just like me. We’re all falling apart.