Watching three flies climbing the front window. They’re going nowhere. Trapped between glass and blinds, escalating to the top, then climbing back down to the wood frame. They do not move side to side. Just up and down.

They’ll never be caught. The flies are too smart for that. Sure. People kill their kind all the time with newspapers folded, fly swatters bought at the dollar store, a broom sometimes for high places, ceilings, and such. A can of Raid.

Looking at the insects, wondering how they manage to escape most times. Quick movements. Rapid speed. Faster than the human hand. People think they’ve caught them, but they really haven’t. The species will never die. Just multiply.

They’ll out live us, the old man said. We really can’t stop them. He blew smoke into the air. We have a short time on earth. The flies? They’ll live through the apocalypse. The second  coming.

He stood up and looked at the flies. He laughed at himself. Alone. Always alone. They’re all I’ve got.