Piles of dirty clothes. Paper plates with pizza crusts on them. Newspapers wadded up in the trashcan. He sits in his easy chair and listens to classical music; Bach softly plays through a tinny speaker.

Noises downstairs. Fire trucks pass with sirens on. An ambulance follows. Bach is drowned out temporarily.  A pipe is lit. Prince Albert in a can.

The old man walks over to the window and looks at the porno shop across the street with its lights blinking and words saying: Peep Shows. Naked Girls. $5. It’s been a long time since he’s talked to a woman.

He looks in his wallet. Four one dollar bills. He sees quarters and nickels in an old coffee can by his cactus. Eagerly, he counts out a buck and fills his pocket with loose change. He sucks on his pipe.

Traffic barely moves. Yellow cabs and Ubers take home young drunks or dump them off at Grand Central Station. Parents in Jersey and Long Island snore loudly. Nights of waiting up are over.

With a walking stick in one hand and the other in his pocket sifting through coins, he crosses 8th Avenue. Cautiously, he opens the porn shop door and is hit with sounds of loud foreign tongues. A sitar is played in the background, and a tenor in Urdu sings out songs from Pakistan. The young dark man behind the counter nods his head to the music while counting out tokens to men in long coats. Spring has not come yet.

Asking for a token, the old man places his bills and silver on the glass case in front of him. The Pakistani scrapes it all up and hands him a token; on one side, a naked woman’s breasts and on the other a curvy ass.

He passes old movies on the shelves, size enhancers, dildos, blow-up dolls, and magazines. A green light flashes in the back where booths are lined up side by side. The floors are slick from mop water and semen.

Inside a screen separates the old man from paradise. A black phone hangs on the wall, an open slot at the bottom for tips, and a machine to place his token in sits to the side. A voice is heard.

Give me a minute, honey, she says. Just one second. He waits patiently. The Pakistani music sounds muffled now. OK baby, put that token in. The screen rises, revealing a skinny black woman in red lingerie. The more you tip, the more I take off, she yells.

The old man says, hello. I can’t tip. Could we just talk? 

How you think I make my money?

Not sure, he says.

Tips honey. You sure you ain’t got no more dollars on you?

I spent my last dollar on the token.

Damn. Well, all you can do is look. I ain’t saying a word. And I ain’t gonna strip for ya old broke ass.

I understand. I just wanted someone to say goodnight to.

Goodnight to?

Yeah. Goodnight.

That’s it? The old man nods his head. There is silence.

Well, goodnight, she says.

Goodnight.

The screen comes down.