Chapter 3

Gerald locked the door to his office at five-fifteen. He dropped the key in his pocket and walked out through the lobby, past Matilda’s vacant desk. He stopped to look at a picture of Matilda and her husband. What the hell was his name? Steve? Jim? She had worked with Gerald for three years, so he really ought to know this. He rolled his eyes at his ignorance and put the picture back on the desk.

   He exited the lobby and got into his car. He turned on the local public radio station and pulled out of the lot. On the radio, reporters were talking about concurrent natural disasters in Indonesia, Turkey, Australia, Mexico, Canada, Ireland, and Nigeria. “That’s some cheery shit,” he said, switching off the radio. He could only take so much news about fires, earthquakes, landslides, typhoons, and cattle stampedes. He wasn’t really certain a cattle stampede should be included as a natural disaster, but since there had been five deaths, he didn’t see any reason to split hairs.

   He chose to take the long way home, still rattled by his dream. It wasn’t just because of the disturbing nature of the dream. Any type of sex dream shook him up, left him guilt ridden. Rather than spend the rest of the evening feeling creepy, he stopped at a gas station for beer. He picked up a six-pack of Sam Adams and, against his better judgment, two packs of Camels. He’d quit smoking almost three weeks before, but his will power had bottomed out.

   Seventeen dollars poorer, Gerald turned into his driveway and parked his car. He got out, dropping his cigarette and grinding it out. He’d successfully gone nineteen days without a single one and then smoked three on the drive home. Fuck it, he thought. He already felt bad enough and wasn’t going to get himself any more worked up over smoking. He took the beer and sat down in his front yard. He pried the cap from one, flicked it at his garage, and downed half the bottle in one gulp.

   Fuck it, he thought again.