He ties a knot in a rope. Tightens by pulling on it with both hands. Ties another one. The rope cuts into his hands, making them bleed a bit. The old man wipes blood on a white towel with automotive oil on it; reeking of petrol. He stares at the cuts on his hands. He laughs, picks up the rope again, and begins forming  a noose.

A folding chair is in the corner. He walks over and brings it to the center of the garage. He stands on it, bounces with his thin legs, trying to decide whether or not this is the right one. He throws the noose over the wooden beam, places it around his neck, and tightens the rope by making another knot. He jumps off the chair. The task is complete.

While hanging in air, the old man thinks while he is choking. Children whose names he forgets. A wife who died long ago. The dog sits under him and barks.

His face is turning red, then blue. Thoughts have stopped. A body swings. The old man is done with this life. He has moved on to the next. No heaven nor hell. Just a baby crying as her mother has given birth.