Dreaming in the afternoon. A nap on a couch. Eyes shut. Cats scratching the litter box. Cacti growing in pots.

Blinds are closed. Sunshine creeps in. Shadows on walls. Air-brakes on a diesel hiss down the street. An American flag waves high on a pole. Kids laughing on their way home from school.

He awakes. Checks the time on a wall clock his grandfather made years ago before his death. Grandaddy said, I don’t have any money, but I’ve got this clock I made.

That was his inheritance. It hangs there above a fireplace. A picture of his family on the mantle. The wife he had, son in Tulsa, the family dog, all of them lined up to say cheese. Broad smiles. Except him. The old man never smiled.

He sits up on the couch, resting his head in his hands. Alone now. The clock chimes three times. The old man counts each ring. He closes his eyes.

Life changes us, he says. Life changes us. 

He lies back down on the couch. He can’t remember what he was dreaming. The old man just knows it was better than his reality.