Word count 438

                                                             Le Penseur

                                                Bill Tope & Doug Hawley

Stan sat before the 1980s-vintage television set, unmoving. He was just dimly aware that his torso and limbs were arranged in the same posture as Rodin’s “The Thinker,” only in flesh tones instead of the bronze of the sculpture. While Le Penseur had for more than a century captivated observers with its monumental reflection of profound introspection, Stan knew only that he was stoned on peach-flavored vodka and ersatz Nyquil. Like the statue, Stan was totally nude.

He gazed bleakly at the TV, saw on the fuzzy screen only the pointless Sunday morning discussion programs. Stan moved his right elbow from his left knee and bent to retrieve his flask of generic vodka. He then snatched from the TV table the large, trapezoid-shaped bottle of generic cold meds. Decanting the green, gloppy liquid into a small plastic cup, he tossed it back like a shot of tequila. Next he unscrewed the vodka and took a bracing hit. The hair on his arms stood on end.
“I’m ready,” he said aloud, “for a Sunday without football.”

Stan’s wife, Bree, walked through the front door and dropped her handbag on the parson’s table beside the entrance. She stared at her husband and offered up, “Shit-faced again, lover?”
“Is that what you learned at Sunday school today?” asked Stan, promptly falling off the sofa and bonking his head on the edge of the TV.

As he lay there, dazed, Bree sashayed through the living room, took up a vase, removed the fresh-cut flowers and poured the water on her husband’s head. Stan sprang to life at once.
“What’s for lunch?” he slurred.

“Hash.  Don’t get up; I’ll serve you where you are.”

Bree brings him something ugly in a bowl.”

“Hey Bree, that’s the dog food dish.”

“Of course it is, I gave you dog food.”

“Bree, I can only take so much.  You know I can leave you any time.”

“Promises, promises.  The checkout guy at the grocery lets me know every time I shop, that he’s available. Good hair, and a body that looks like a Greek statue.  You really want to make threats?”

“You think you are so hot!  Want to know what the secretaries at work say about me.”

“Sure, I’d like a good laugh.”

“They say I have great penmanship.”

Bree starts to giggle.  Stan joins her.

“Hey Bree, help your drunk old man up so we can watch something on TV.”

“OK, but after that I’ve got to put away groceries.”

Later they have the TV on but ignore it while making out like a couple of teenagers.

Appears in Gorko Gazette, Topiary, and Synchronized Chaos