Forgotten

 His big toe ripped a hole in his sock, but it didn't bother him unless it got really cold, then he felt the difference between a hole and not. His shirt, one of just a few, was stained with the menu of the week, but he didn't care; he called it his taste test of meals.

He didn't know what a manscape was; he thought it meant somebody had escaped from prison. His beard was white, and there was some mystery about what may be living in there, but he didn't care.

A small family of mice made their home in his home, and that was okay with him; everything breathing needs shelter somewhere. He'd hear them on the counters at night, their tiny feet running from one place to another, landing on a scrap of something he dropped, but he didn't care.

His house was small and needed many repairs, like the roof that leaked and the pipes that corroded almost daily. Trying to fix things was a constant battle until he quit fixing them and let them be what they would be, much like himself.

He expected to be found one day living in a state of disarray that swallowed him up and spit him out, lying on a stained carpet with a giant hole in his sock and a shirt with the day's menu splattered all over it. The paramedics would wear masks to help with the stench as they tried in vain to revive him, but he was gone.

The city tore down the place as a family of mice raced to the house next door for shelter and food scraps. It was just another story of being forgotten in a world where what should matter does not.

Mike 2025