A lava lamp giving off a blue and green light sits on an empty bookshelf . A small black and white TV with rabbit ears on top is turned on, but there is no sound; just people moving their lips. A weatherman points at maps and cold fronts. He chews tobacco and watches while he spits black liquid into a Styrofoam cup with the letters JL written on it.

The old man sits in a metal chair with his sock feet resting on a milk crate. He continues chewing and spitting  while he now watches a brunette in a sweater deliver the news. His eyes are glued to the set as lines run across the screen. He hits the television with the palm of his hand.

I’ll bitch slap you, he says. Come on now. The lines go away. A commercial for a Ford truck comes on, riding over rough terrain, a man and a woman in the front seat, looking for adventure.

Wish I had one of those trucks, he says after he spits. I’d do anything for one of them. He takes the wad of chewing tobacco out of his mouth and places it in the cup. Goddamn I wish I had a truck. 

Next, a commercial for Miller beer comes on. People living the high life. Champagne of beers, he says, checking his pockets for money, only pulling out a quarter. Can’t have no Miller with this, he states. Never enough. 

He starts looking around the room  for change and bills. He finds pennies and  nickels under the bookshelf.

How’d you get there? He starts counting the copper and silver. Three dollars. That’s it? You can’t get anything for three bucks these days, he tells himself. Maybe a forty ounce. Maybe.

Another wad of Red Man goes into his mouth up against his right jaw. He sucks on the juices. Spits. And notices the television is on the fritz again. He kicks the side of it. He kicks again. And again. He is fighting the TV set. He starts to punch it. The old man hits the screen with his fist. The screen shatters. Broken pieces of glass on the carpeted floor.

Well, ain’t that something, he says. Nothing ever works. Nothing ever works.