A question texted to his eldest son hangs in the ether unanswered.
HellooooOOOOOooo? He tries to make it funny.
His youngest finishes eating. "You want me to put this away?" he asks. Pappy looks at the vegetables and fruits in their sealed containers.
"Sure." The young man puts them back in the fridge. He never says a word. He finishes and he goes upstairs.
Loreena McKennitt begs on the radio, "Please remember me." Pappy sits alone at the table. He sips his ale. "Please remember me." He thinks, this is where the camera pans back, back, back out the window, the air conditioner noise fades and the night enters the screen from the sides and closes on the shrinking man sitting alone. Somehow the music rises to the fore. "Please remember me." Fade to black. Roll credits.
But this isn't a movie or an artsy fartsy television show with a healthy dab of sap in its closing scene. We won't magically move to our protagonist waking up tomorrow. There's no way to cut out the loneliness, futility, frustration of waiting to sleep. Of waiting for a little blessed oblivion. Cut to daylight. Cut to another day in the life of a sad sack.
The ipod randomly, yeah right, shuffles Ray Charles crying about something or other next. He looks at the clock. Seven twenty-seven. Shit. It's going to be a long night. He takes another sip.