Water drips from a faucet. Staples stick up in the carpet. Electrical outlets loose in walls. Dust and dirt on  baseboards. Stained tile in the kitchen. Mousetraps set.

He sits at a folding table, eating bread from the wrapper. No peanut butter. Jelly gone. Bach plays on the radio. Morning time music on WKCR. It’s a concerto. He knows it by heart. It’s a piece from the Brandenburg collection. A highlight of the Baroque age. He breathes it in. Tilts his head back and smiles while he chews. A mouse is caught.

A glass of red wine poured. He starts his day. In the corner stands a stack of books. He has read all of them. He selects Crime and Punishment. The old man knows it by heart. Every decade, he reads the work by Dostoyevsky and learns something new. Bach keeps playing.

Come afternoon, he will nap and dream in Russian. A window opens in this dream. There is a light coming in. It is blinding. Is it God? He asks. No. Only the sun.