The man had in his possession seven perfectly transparent plastic boxes.  Four small ones and three large ones. The small ones could fit a basketball or toaster maybe. The large ones were twice the volume.  He kept these boxes in the closet of his his sleeping chamber.  They sat upon two shelves, beneath which hung a variety of garments.

Each of these garments hung upon a single plain white plastic coat hanger.  One garment, one hanger.  Each garment had in common with the other the fact that they were, all of them, designed for wear upon the upper body.  They were tops.   There were chemises and button -vests, chiffon blouses and rayon smoking jackets.  There were plain white dress shirts as well the tailored kind that required links for the cuffs.   Here and there a tee shirt hung, printed with logos that suggested the latest active wear.  a polyester shirt with a faded neon colour and wide collar, hanging on a wire hanger with a paper cover.

They all hung there, neatly arranged by size.   If one could look closely at them, one could see the faded ink on the hand -scrawled work orders attached to the bottom of each clear  plastic dry-cleaning bag that covered each item.  Different garment, different bag, different dry-cleaner, different date.  Different hue of faded yellow on each different bag.

The  man lay upon his bed, with his closet doors open.  He was wearing his evening robe and a pair of wool socks.   On the night table beside him was a glass of water that might have had a sip taken out of it. Near the glass and behind the lamp was an old jar that had, at one time, held peanut butter.  In the jar were two eagle feathers, a discarded toothbrush, and a crumpled up doily.  Beneath these was a business card and a Remembrance Day poppy.  Some unpaid bills lay strewn about him.

In another room water trickled ceaselessly in a small aquarium that had a burnt-out light.  A different light was left on elsewhere in the man’s home.  In an open drawer there lay upon its side a bottle of sleeping pills. Below this a forgotten travel guide and some crumpled foil.

The man lay upon his side, his head on the pillow.  He was curled up in a gentle fetal position with his face toward the closet.  His wool-clad feet stuck out beneath a white quilted throw.  His robe was tied with a tidy, symmetrical bow.

A whisp of graying hair covered his face as he lay there.  If one were to move it, one would see quite plainly that the eyes were fixed upon the plastic boxes.

Seven of them.

Arranged tidily upon the shelves.

The four small ones above.  The three larger ones below.

Each of these was absolutely, perfectly,

transparent.