He woke up ready to die. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Dave couldn’t think of a single reason to keep going. Every project had failed, every job had been a dead-end, and now he was single again. He didn’t miss his wife, she was a bit of a bitch, but Dave did hate being alone.
His friends were all excited about going to the twenty year reunion later in the week, but Dave couldn’t stand the thought of it. The fake, plastic conversations. The phony mingling and pretending to care about stupid kids and pointless jobs. It was all enough to make him want to throw up.
Dave walked over to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water. He reached into the cabinet above the stove and pulled out a couple of bottles of prescription painkillers.
Plenty, he thought.
Looking out the kitchen window, Dave was desperate for something to give him a reason to hang on. He’d been low before, so low that he’d pulled the gun out of the closet, but this felt far worse. Dave was completely flat. There was no more kindling inside him to fire up. He was completely empty and without some kind of external event, he knew he’d be dead before dinner.
Dave tried his best not to even look over at the bedroom closet. If he pulled that shiny gun out there would be no going back.
He poured out a handful of Vicodin and washed them down his throat. Looking at the clock, he figured he’d be high by nine o’clock. If he could just hang on that long, he might be able to think differently. Or at the very least, it would be a hell of a lot easier to pull the trigger.
Dave was taking a leak when he heard the familiar scraping sounds of a rusty shopping cart being pushed by the front of the house. He finished pissing and walked over to the front window to take a look. Sure enough, there was a crusty old homeless person pushing a beat-up shopping cart down the street.
Dave grabbed an envelope out of the bedroom and scrambled out the front door.
“Excuse me,” Dave said.
The homeless person turned around but didn’t say anything.
“Could you use some money? I don’t need it now,” Dave said, handing the person the wallet.
The homeless person took the envelope and thumbed through it. She looked to be in complete disbelief–there were several hundred dollar bills in there. It was Dave’s cash fund for the strip club. A disgusting habit that, along with the pills, had become a survival crutch.
“Thank you,” the person said in disbelief. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Dave said.
“Thank you so much.”
Dave gave a wave and head back across his lawn toward the front door. For the first time in a long time, he felt incredible.