Blankets cover windows. Christmas lights dangle from the ceiling. Artificial flowers in a vase. He pulls back the blue blanket and watches as snow falls; streetlights cast a blue haze on white.

The old man stands there and touches the glass with his fingertips. He draws a stick figure horse with a cowboy on top of it. In a circle above the cowboy he writes, giddy-up. The old man smiles.

There is day-old coffee in a mug. He pours it into a pot on the stove and warms it. The flame is orange. The old man places his hands on the side of the fire. Heat, he says. Warmth. He breathes in and blows out cold air.

His mug of coffee sits on the table next to a high school yearbook. The old man looks at the color photos of kids. He sees a picture of himself in a football uniform. Is that me? he asks out loud. He laughs and turns the page to find a blonde that looks familiar. The old man spots her name underneath. JoAnn, he says. JoAnn. Haven’t seen her in years. I wonder what happened to her. Probably married some insurance salesman most likely.

The old man closes the annual. He feels the red leather and traces gold letters that spell out Wayne Generals on the front. It’s dated 1974. 

Where does time go? What happened to all these folks? Grandkids. Wives. Husbands. Tax scams. Baptisms. The old man laughs. Life goes on.