A car warms up across the street. Garage lights glow. A little light peaks through darkness. The chained dog barks. 

He drinks coffee while seated at the kitchen table. No sugar or milk. He adds whiskey. Drinks it down quickly. Places the bottle back in the cabinet behind baking soda, Crisco, cereal boxes, and a moldy loaf of bread he’ll feed to birds later in the morning when they gather in the backyard.

Looking out the window, the old man sees a deer. He acts as though he’s holding a shotgun and makes a noise while pointing the imaginary weapon at the animal. The buck runs off.

It is autumn. Leaves are wet from dew. Grass is slick and shiny. He walks outside and stands on the back porch smoking a cigarette. Remembering his past life; the one that got away from him. His younger days when it seemed easier. Everything is easy when you’re young, he whispers. Everything. Jobs, women, hangovers, the world, all of it is easy. Until they force you to grow up, he thinks.

The old man points his finger at his temple and acts like he is pulling the trigger. Bang, he says. Bang.