The phone rings. I don’t answer. Ten rings and it finally stops. No answering machine is connected to the line so I never get messages. Smoke curls from the the tip of my cigarette resting on the edge of a tin ashtray.
Magazines lay scattered across the coffee table mixed with wrappers discarded after the burgers were eaten. An empty bottle of rye sits on the arm rest of my futon with a full glass next to it.
The room is dark. Night outside, no lights on inside. The glow from the television sends faint shadows dancing along the walls. Muted music echoes through the tiny speakers sitting on the book shelf, the Black Crowes play with a tinny sound.
It’s been four hours since I was let go from my worthless job. All I can do is sit in the dark, drink and feel miserable for what I no longer have.