Larry Lives Again
Larry Wilkins sat on his worn-out sofa, a slouch that spoke volumes about where he was in life. The muted television flickered with images of a world that felt distant and undesirable. His fingers traced the rim of an empty beer can, its metallic coldness a stark contrast to the warmth of her touch. His unkempt hair hung over his face like a curtain of grief, the greasy strands clinging to his forehead in defiance of gravity. Grime clung to his skin as if it had become part of him, a second skin he couldn’t shed no matter how hard he scrubbed, not that, that was a priority for Larry. Clothes hung loosely on his gaunt frame, testament to the weight he’d lost since she left him… no, not left, she was taken away from …