Fake flowers on the fireplace mantle. Christmas lights glow on the plastic tree. A dead poinsettia sits in the corner. It is July.

He comes home to no one and grabs a beer from the mini-fridge. Foam sprays him when the top is popped.

God damn it, he mumbles, grabbing a paper towel and dabbing his tee-shirt. The old man slurps it down till it’s empty. He crushes the can with his right hand and throws it towards the garbage; he misses.

Outside, the streetlights are coming on. The red neon in the bar across the street shines brighter. He opens a window and leans on the frame.

Cars drive up and down Broadway.  The fat man remembers when he had a car. Used to drive all over this country. North, South, East, and West. Made it all the way to California one time. Swam in the ocean. Dug shells in the sand.

One time, he drove all the way to Philadelphia just to try a Philly steak sandwich. He was disappointed. Turned around and drove home.

He opens another beer, which sprays him too. God damn it, he says. God damn it.