The lantern spun into the night sky.
This one is faded like his hair, greasy and thin, and his face, a geyser with no way to explode.
Just bubbling, bubbling and then nothing...
He was in his chair: Perhaps with beer, perhaps with potato chips...
Perhaps with just a watch on his hairy not yet old man hands.
He is an old friend sinking into the upholstery.
The living room is bright, and then it gets dark, so very dark.
