He sits in his chair.  He is wearing a robe that he slept in the night before.  the robe is not fine – it is made of a cheap synthetic and is old – yet it is his favorite robe in the cold weather.   The door is open three or four feet away, maybe ten inches open.  The morning is the coldest of this autumn, and his stockinged feet are chilled.  the chill is moving up the legs to the calves.

He spends much of his time watching video clips of greatness.  Music, football, paddling, cycling, fighting.   He is living vicariously through the greatness of others.

He is paralyzed.  He is paralyzed .

He is paralyzed today and everyday.

The years go by and whatever it  is that he was supposed to become remains unrealized.

It gnaws at him?

It squeezes him.

He lives in his head and only goes out when the senses are stimulated or when he is distracted.

His dog looks at him and tells him that it is time.

Time to play.