4
David was alone in the dark apartment, a half empty cardboard box in front of him. A buttery yellow pool of light emanating from the only lamp in the room surrounded his chair. His chair. She had kept the couch, but he got to keep his chair. The ice in the Scotch and water held in his hand shifted, creating a quiet clinking. The noise brought David out of his stupor and he looked around.
He had started to unpack the box in front of him; then the idea of a drink had come to him, and that sounded like a much better idea. Five drinks later he still sat staring at the box, uninspired to pull out any more of his things. His things, not hers. She had kept everything that was hers which, it turns out, was almost everything. Things were important to her, not to him. That’s probably w
