His BlackBerry buzzed on the nightstand as the sun was going down. He waited. Two vibrations and it was just an email that could wait until later to be answered. Any more and it would be the alarm, signaling time to get up. Buzzz… Buzzz… Buzzz. Shit.

The floor was cold. The house empty, his boy at Granna’s house. Probably for the best. He was a grumpy bastard when he didn’t sleep enough, which was basically always. He stumbled to the shower by feel, hoping his sight and hearing would focus when the water hit him. They did and they weren’t at all pleased about it.

As the hot water helped his blood begin to flow at a reasonable rate, he ran through the to do list for the evening. At work by nine. Meal at two. Off at eight. Then to have breakfast with his boy and play as much as he could before he’d pass out in the middle of his turn at a video game. At some point while he slept the boy would sneak a kiss goodbye and grandmother would drive him to the weekly meeting place. He’d be gone until next weekend.

He reached past the row of suits and dress shirts to find a pair of dickies and an old blue shirt. It felt like Batman was having to moonlight as a street sweeper every time he put them on. His second job insured the roof stayed theirs and that the refrigerator had food in it, but it also made sure he wasn’t there to enjoy it with his boy nearly as often as he wanted. If it sounds honorable, it isn’t. He wasn’t working two jobs because he was battling some unforeseeable act of God. A recession, illness, or lost job. He worked like this because he took to long to grow up. He worked this hard as penance for a life of bad decisions.

The dogs whimpered for attention, but all he had time for was a quick scratch of their ears and to let them outside. The younger one didn’t know another way of life… but the older… She remembered. She remembered the days before. She stood at the back door peering in at him.

Coffee… lots of coffee. And oatmeal.

He let the dogs in and put them in their kennel. They both looked at him like only dogs can… a sorrowful expression that asked if he was gone so much because he didn’t like them. He told them they were good dogs, mostly because they were. But they didn’t seem convinced.

He stepped outside and lit a cigarette. It burned his nose which felt oddly good. The stress artificially dropped from his shoulders a bit. He pulled his bag around his shoulder. It had some lunch and something to read on his meal break. He used to read voraciously… No time for that now.

The car started. Not forever he thought. Just make it through this weekend. This time next year it will be better. The man looking back in the rear view mirror didn’t seem convinced.

This short story is a fictionalization. While based in truth it isn’t meant to be read as fact but more to convey a feeling. Its an idea I’ve been playing with for a while. Let me know what you think.