What’s to save his life? Jeopardy surrounds him. His dreams have shrunk to fragments. No one believes him now when he says he has a plan. When he says there is a future in his mind. His hand, the left one, cradles his penis for comfort. His right hand hangs in the air, waits for daylight. Daylight on his eyelids is more than he can bear this morning, unlike any other. He thinks he smells coffee. A little wife in a little kitchen, that’s the ticket. Is that asking too much? The smell of bacon with an egg cooked just for him. What’s to save him? He lies dreaming, thank god it’s summer, the park in bloom. Any minute now he’ll open his eyes and be a man with money in his pocket and the pocket won’t have a hole in it. How much went through that hole before he found it? How much fell right on out of his life seconds after he thought he had secured it. Everything. All of it. Enough to break a heart.
What’s to save his life?