My Atari died today. Or maybe it was yesterday, I can't tell. I haven't used it in a while so it's possible that it died last year or perhaps the year before that.
After putting the Atari in the garbage, I wandered about the apartment. I opened a window and looked at the tree out front. Its leaves were orange. The sky was hazy and the street was wet. Several cars had their lights on. A woman passed by in a red coat. Two bums stumbled up the street, arguing loudly. A couple walked slowly around the corner and entered the pastry shop.
I moved the ashtray from the window to the coffee table and smoked a cigarette while opening mail. There was a bill from the water company. There were photos of my niece. I recycled a postcard from Comcast.I smoked another cigarette while standing in the middle of the room. I didn't feel like doing anything.
There was a knock at the door and I answered. Drummond asked, "I have some fake sausage and whiskey. How about dinner at my place?" I accepted, as it would save me the trouble of cooking.
His apartment smelled of old books. "I offered dinner because I have a favor to ask of you," he said. I drank the whiskey. He proceeded to explain that he had been playing his Xbox until just last week. "It started treating me poorly, so I quit playing. But then I felt guilty, so I went back to the last game I saved and tried to get to level twelve. Well, little do I know, the Xbox must think its job is to frustrate me because it won't let me get to level twelve. It’s just not having it, no matter how hard I try."
I lit a cigarette and watched him pour more whiskey. He told me that he broke up with the Xbox, would never play it again and that he even smacked it around a little. He said he had never smacked it around before, but he thought that just this once, it was justified.
Drummond looked upset. He leaned over the table to ask me, "So, since you're a man, I want to know. Did I handle the situation correctly?"
I nodded. He seemed pleased.
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