A broken clock. Hands stuck on 6.  Microwave doesn’t work. The couch has springs coming through  cushions. TV lays on its side. He takes an aluminum baseball bat and starts swinging wildly at everything in sight. Turning in circles and missing all that he tries to hit. Bat is thrown down on the floor.

He opens the refrigerator, and a loud humming noise comes from it. There is nothing inside of it. No beer. No bologna.  Not any bread. Nothing but mold encasing the walls. The young man takes his thick finger and runs it over the green and black growth. He smells it and then tries to turn on the water, which has been turned off for a month.

Goddammit,  he swears. It’s all broken. He picks up the bat and begins beating on the faucet. You sonofabitch, he says. I’ll show you. He continues hitting the water spout. Come on now, he yells. Is that all you got? He gives up.

Tired. Beat. He sits on the floor and tells himself that all is OK. All is OK, he says over and over. All is OK.

He looks up and sees a painting of an old man praying over bread. He stares at it. He gets off the kitchen floor and walks over to the painting. With his forefinger, he traces over the picture.

All is OK.