He didnt care

     Another crumpled pack of cigarettes adds to the pile that's been growing for a while now. The trash can overflowed weeks ago, and he didn't feel like doing anything about it. Dishes in the sink were unwashed and flowing over to all available countertop space. The ants found them a while back and continued their feast for as far as the eye could see. The fridge door was open, and whatever food was left in there was truly not fit for consumption, and he didn't care.

     His dirty t-shirt had as many stains as a babies bib and his bare feet were the colors of falling food from his mouth as he ate without knowing he was getting more on himself than in his mouth His yellow nicotine stained fingers found a wooden match and lit a cigarette that he would hold onto until it burned his fingers causing him to throw it on the floor or countertop or wherever the damn thing ended up, and he didn't care.

     When nature called sometimes, he would make his way to the bathroom down a hall stacked to the ceiling with old newspapers and boxes of junk containing everything from plastic ice cube holders to hummingbird feeders in a multitude of colors. The bathroom was the third door down the hall, he knew that because the first two rooms were so full of his stuff, the doors wouldn't open anymore. Someday he would force his way in and see what was in there. Most of the time he just did his business in a giant size mayonnaise jar in the corner next to the cats’ litterbox.

     He didn't remember when the last time he took a bath or shower, and he didn't care. He wasn't going anywhere. The superstore delivered his food once a month when his check came, sometimes it sat on the front steps for days before he made it down the hall to the front door. Hell, they just rang the bell and left. You see the store just took the money every month from his bank account just like the power company did. Every day he asked himself how much longer it would be before his dead body smelled so bad a neighbor or someone walking past would call somebody, and he didn’t care.

     Somewhere back in time his world crumbled. Carefree days of thrift stores and yard sales always finding treasures that he took home and put on display. He was raised in a family that had nothing, so everything was appreciated and kept. “Waste not want not” his father would say. His love and passion for “Stuff” grew with each passing year until one day he found himself a prisoner of a treasure only worth anything to him. And he didn’t care.

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