I walked out onto my porch barefoot and lit the rolled tobacco. The rain came in slantwise and had drowned the top inch of the porch. Bathing my naked toes, the water started to seep up through the cuff of my jeans as if the moon hadn’t stopped crying over the death of the day’s sunlight. The phone sat on the windowsill waiting for a call that most likely would not come and three hours had crept by while watching reruns on the Game Show Network on autopilot. I had seen what seemed like a lifetime of Press Your Luck episodes. Big money, no whammies. Right.

I inhaled again, feeling the familiar tickle along my throat as I leaned back and exhaled through my nose. The wispy curls twirled up and spiraled towards the porch roof and filtered through the tiny crevices. It was a queer exchange of smoke for water as I had to palm the cigarette in order to save it from being pockmarked with droplets sneaking through the slits above. The rain had been on the offensive since lunchtime and it was approaching midnight. I flicked the rest of my cigarette out into the rain where it was promptly slapped down by the momentum of fat raindrops intent on feeding all things green and went back inside.

My couch was the byproduct of several dorm rooms, a shared apartment with an ex-fiancée, and then finally passed on to me as a going away gift. You could hear it groan under the weight of years soaked up in the cushions. Springs like old joints, armrests tired of keeping comfort in and contained within the fabric. It wasn’t ugly, just aged and sickly, in need of new stuffing to make it soft and pliable again. The largest stain lay on the bottom of the opposite cushion, a victim of a bachelor party-turned-pity party in one phone call and several angry exchanges.

I laid down and tried to find the sweet spot where the cushions melded with my body and throw pillows angled my head just right enough to watch television without aching my neck. I left the phone on the coffee table in front of me, scattered with ashtray litter, an empty soda can, various wrappers from God knows what and sunflower seeds sucked upon and spat out after devouring the innards with glee. The open storm door let the cool breeze in and sent papers flying gently across the table. I let it all fall to the floor, muted the television and listened to the rain pour down across the roof in militaristic waves of relentless marching as the phone sat silent in opposition.

Want to comment on this Prose? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Prose and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...