It is dark. Sounds of diesels passing by on the nearby highway make a melodic song. Cicadas are also singing. Making high-pitched sounds early in the morning. Through the windows, darkness becomes light, and dogs begin to bark loudly every once in a while, making all of this a symphony as the old man snores and dreams.

He sleeps on the couch in a fetal position. His mouth is wide open, and occasionally, he talks out loud. Muttering statements. Saying, come back here. Don’t leave. You’ll never find a better deal. The old man rolls over on his side and kicks off the blanket. His black and blue legs stretch out as he begins to wake up. He looks down at his boxers with yellow stains on them and says, damn. Not again. 

He sits up and rubs his eyes. Dogs are barking louder, and a truck starts up across the street.  Headlights come through the windows. The cicadas stop singing. There is no longer any music. Just noise. He curses the light.