A mouse scurried across the linoleum floor. Moldy bread on the counter. A coffee cup hangs from a cabinet above the coffeemaker. Rusty water drips from the faucet.

He sat in the living room. A worn-out chair with tears in it, foam sneaking through holes. Brown stains.

The radio played The Texas Dough Boys. He hummed along. Honky tonk music. A Texas two-step. He got up and glided on his feet. Dancing with a ghost from long ago, a pretty blonde girl he picked up in Albuquerque. They drove to Dallas in the middle of the night. Sang songs of heartache and despair. Something about  women always leaving. Like she did once they reached Big D during the state fair. They rode the ferris wheel, and then she dwindled off in the crowd. He called for her. Hey. Hey girl. Come back here. Didn’t even know her name.

He still thinks about her from time to time. She was his one true love.