The diagnosis was just around the corner…
Ralph exits the trailer, his pregnant belly ripe from the meal before. His sleeveless T-shirt barely contains him as he lumbers down the stairs and lands into one of their faded pink metal chairs.
He hasn’t shaved in a few days. Doesn’t want to. His wife won’t notice, and no one is coming over. It doesn’t matter that he smells of stale cigarettes and old coffee.
Scratching his head, he looks around, surveying the late morning for possibilities. He sees a butt on the ground, but does nothing about it.
His wife adjusts her housedress, as she glares out the window from the kitchenette and heads back to the stove.
He manages to push himself up from the chair and waddles up the stairs. He slams the door behind him and clears his throat from his smoker’s hack.
He doesn’t realize that next week, he will get the fatal diagnosis.