Here's an excerp from the third story "The Old Man" from my chapbook Pantomime:
The next morning Benny woke, performed his ritual of shower, shave and breakfast followed by a monotonous dose of morning news before leaving for the cemetery.
Rose or no rose, he was going to make the visit he made every week since Marge's passing. She would be expecting him, or so he liked to think, and he wasn't one to disappoint.
He opened his front door half expecting to see the decrepit antique of a man staring at him, waiting with foul baited breath, but he wasn't there -- no, not at the door step, but at the end of the driveway, scurrying away as if he had just been coming up the walkway and became frightened. Without a cane it was a miracle he didn't fall over in his rush to evacuate the yard.
Benny had half a mind to yell something to the old man but decided against his initial rage. After all, he could be troubled. He was definitely obsessed with Benny or his house, that was for sure, but why?
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