a penny's golden backside

The pavement is glittering with the motion of rain on it as he steps out into the streets. An umbrella is rolled up, neatly placed under his arm. This man looks like he belongs in many places like next to an old woman in a car or at the movies, but not on this street. He just ate a cheeseburger and had four or five screwdrivers, but he wasn't counting. He was there for the win. All of this youth hung around him, they were draped like parts of his life that would pass by. He knew all of their names, and all of their birthdays and he loved them. The sock in his left shoe had been bothering him all night, it had rolled up too tight at the toe, but he would wait until he was on the bus to fix it. He didn't want to waste time in the rain.

When he got home he put the umbrella on the kitchen table and took his shoes off. His socks looked scrunched up. He took them off without using his hands. It took him fifty-two seconds. Then he flung them into the bedroom. He sat down on the couch and pulled a blanket over his feet and legs. 'I wonder what the movie stars do when they get home?' he thought. He perused over the adverts in that days newspaper, but no one was selling anything useful. A 1998 Honda, red, missing tail lights. A labrador mix, three months old. A Singer machine, from an estate sale. A collection of National Geographic Magazines from 1967-2001, odd years. No baseball cards, no missing children, no decent obituaries. He turned on the game and shut his eyes.

He thought about his night and the way they hadn't almost won at all, not even close. Then he sang a few lines from Billy Joel's Still Rock and Roll to Me, 'Nowadays you can't be too sentimental' and fell asleep.

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