They sat on the couch. Rusty springs came through cushions with yellow foam exposed. Torn holes in arm rests. A shredded blanket on back.

A small black and white television with an antennae sat on the floor. No sound came from it. It was drawn on with black marker. Stick figures holding hands. His initials on the side; B.J. He was quite proud of it. Every day, he’d turn the dial until it clicked. But nothing was ever clear. The picture always had wavy lines through it. They learned to watch Andy Griffith sideways.

Outside was parked a rusty old Ford truck with the doors off of it. A pair of rain-soaked fuzzy dice hung from the rear view mirror. Tires were flat.

One day, I’m going to fix that beast up, Bobby Joe said to Carol. You’ll see. We’ll drive around town in style.

With what? Carol laughed. How are you going to do that? We barely eat, and you’re talking about fixing up a truck. Well, I’ll be, she declared. I’ll be.

I fed you last night, didn’t I?

Bones, she said. Old bones without  much meat on them. How are we supposed to survive?

Things are tough all over, Bobby Joe said. Hard. I didn’t see this coming. Nobody did.

There’s people living fine, Carol lit a hand-rolled cigarette. They got decent homes and cars. They work for those things. They don’t just sit around and do nothing all day.

I told you once, and I’ll tell you again. I can’t work. Doctors said I was crazy. Some kind of bipolar deal. Can’t remember if it’s bipolar 1 or bipolar 2? But I’m crazier than ten whores on crack, he said.

Yeah. You’re crazy alright.  And I’m crazier for living with you.

Don’t you think about leaving me. Don’t even think about it. I’ll find you. Yeah. I’ll find you.

Where are you going to look?

Everywhere.  All over. I’ll fix that truck and come for you. I swear.

Carol laughed. They both laughed.  Wheel Of Fortune was coming on. The two watched as Pat spun the wheel. They never solved the puzzle.