Sunday, The 9th
Late Afternoon
OF ALL THE DAYS OF THE WEEK, NONE HAD SUCH A CRUSHING existential bent as Sunday had always had for Scott. He felt alone and wasting away each time he found himself on the Day of Rest at this hour. Maybe it was a cosmic punishment for his misdeeds and faltering in life, or maybe a weekly penance for only that week’s sins. Just the way the bright sun shined, muffled through the curtains, made the room seem filthy despite it being no grimier than usual. The air tasted stale. The television played some giallo film from the ’80s that seemed to sap Scott’s strength each time he caught a glimpse of the hideous cinematography.
Scott had trouble seeing movies as anything besides movies. He saw the actors acting their parts in a scene; adults playing pretend. They
