He has no shoes on, just white socks with the NFL logo stitched on because he has never really been able to let go of who he used to be.

He is coughing up phlegm from a sickness he is certain arrived with all the recent stress of divorce and debt, and now he doesn’t walk so much as wobble his way into one of the closets upstairs, where he happens upon some painful, wonderful memories he keeps sealed in a plastic cup.

His teeth are in there.