Winter: Snow
The eggnog tasted like shit. His feet dangled cautiously towards the hardwood floor, shoes hanging from his toes like a cliffhanger ready for the final fall towards sharp rocks. He cupped his hands together in his lap and his eyes darted back and forth between the snow falling outside and the infomercials on the television.
The late night television programs were shit. It was all useless. I can’t imagine anyone ever buying anything, despite the host trying their hardest to get phone calls, pushing her tits together and smiling extra big, lips the color of watermelon. Rugs and lamps and food processors and clothes for plus size women, sit on Romanesque pedestals and the man with the toupee would smile and adjust his tie, sweat pooling on his upper lip.
He would say, “They have that tone about them, like they are better than you. Well, I ain’t no fuckin’ idiot. No way, not me. I know.” He would always point at himself with those wrinkled fingers.
“What’s your New Year’s resolution?” His eyes looked extra big through his glasses. I couldn’t think of anything clever to say or anything I wanted to change in the next twelve months. I could barely decide what to eat let alone make a decision about my life.
So I told him that I wanted to be able to remember his name this time next year.
I’ll never forget the look in his eyes. His shoes fell from his toes. The snow kept falling. The television kept talking. The eggnog still tasted like shit.
