The late September sun slants in through the picture window, engaging in battle with doubtful thoughts and dark imaginings.
It's a fair fight.
He shifts awkwardly in the recliner, the house unnaturally quiet, and in the space of two or three minutes moves through a range of emotions varying from baseless fear to uncharacteristic joy.
Just another uninspired Friday morning. Around 9:00 o'clock.
They pile up, these Fridays do, along with the other days of the week. Creating an intimidating mountain of days spent, leaving a diminishing store of days to come.
He sees his future but does not act like it's real. With quiet desperation (he wouldn't want to upset anyone) he senses the acceleration of time and the slow death of options.
But the late September sun slants through the picture window with just enough spark to keep hope alive.
The days will continue to roll on relentlessly. Options will present themselves whether he recognizes them or not.
He is hoping for one last shot at redemption. He will try.
But it's warm here in the recliner, comfortable with two blankets and his cat.
He could close his eyes and drift away. Gently. No disturbance.
Which will it be?
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