They sat cross-legged on the cheap rug in the center of his living room, drinking wine out of plastic mugs and watching the old television that crackled and belched like a fireplace, while the smell of a hot pocket in the microwave was becoming stronger. In half a minute the beeper would go off.
Harrison touched the TV remote and turned it on. Ben-Hur was playing. Charlton Heston was driving chariots and sweating, his brow stuck in one continuous frown.
Angie was peaceful, her eyes closed, perched on Harrison’s shoulder. Charlton Heston looked mad at her.
Harrison dozed off before catching the end of the movie. The light from the TV screen coloured his face yellow, red, and blue.
She woke up around four. She went into Harrison’s bedroom and closed the door behind her.
Harrison looked out his balcony window. He could see six billboards from the window and all of them featured half-naked women.
Harrison opened the door to the microwave and put in another hot pocket. There had been a lot of things he’d been dishonest about, a lot of things he felt he had to atone for. He went and knocked on the bedroom door.
When there was no answer, he walked in. There was a long moment of just standing there and watching her sleep.
The beeper went off; he ate the hot pocket; he slept on the couch.