Peter Kleun

Every evening Peter is reclined with a magazine, reading about things slowly and deeply. His wife never quite understood how he could read about things that happened months ago, sometimes years. But he wants to really understand what happened or how it worked. The immediate reaction of a journalist in the moment never meant anything to him. He won't get the digital copy because he likes the feel of the glossy paper.

Tonight he's reclined but he's without a thing to read. He asks but the nurses keep saying they can't find a thing. So he's staring at the tv, not even sure what he's watching. Between pills and questions, from the police, from doctors and specialists, and between the commercials he dozes. All that he sees his an advertisement for annuities or dental insurance. He's thinking of his magazines, picturing the covers, wondering which one is his favorite, which one he misses the most right now.

Peter lay in the street between a bicycle and a parked car, near the front fender. He sat up and leaned against the car; it was a white sedan and his blood smeared from the back of his head. Another man was face down on the pavement in front of the next car. His satchel was open, and soup pooled around his right arm. Noodles and some kind of brown meaty sauce spilled from a plastic box. Peter immediately thought of Chinese food and how much he'd like to have some right now. Evidently some kind of food delivery was not going to happen. A hungry woman or couple, perhaps a widower, would be wondering where was their food. How long would it be before someone realized they needed another order to be sent, was Peter's next thought.

He ran the streets every morning. The city was laid out in a grid so he could count the miles as he kept his heart rate up. The count kept his mind off the pain he felt in his limbs, the tension in his chest, and the ache in his joints.

For thirty years, he had run the streets around his house. Today was the anniversary, which he knew because he started on his birthday when he turned thirty. The only days he had missed were medical, and he was feeling very proud to have reached such a milestone.