After the working day, after the drawn-out dinner of meatloaf and potatoes, chicken and dumplings, or an anchovy pizza with the regulars down at the bar, Mark faced the hollowness of his home. In a few months he had developed the routine that got him through the transition of being alone.

He'd throw his keys on the desk, shuffle through the mail quickly, dropping junk flyers and unopened envelopes into the trash basket. The bills he set into a slot in the desk. He'd flip on the TV just for noise. Then he'd head for the refrigerator and pull out a beer.