Trapped in his tiny apartment, he felt life slipping away. It reeked, but he didn’t know this. He’d become part of it, fused with the surrounding rot. 

This was week eight of quarantine and unemployment. Isolated with no income. Cellphone cutoff. No television. He couldn’t even pawn his grandmother’s silver, because the shops were closed. 

A kind neighbor put food in front of his door each morning and evening. She knew he was desperate and cared for him behind the closed door. 

On his last night, he picked at his food before picking up the gun. 

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