The game was a good one, but it wasn’t important. They’d even matched the couch and the T.V. to the ones from his childhood.
It never seemed long enough. The girl came in to softly tell him his time was up. They were good about that: giving you a gentle exit from the fantasy. Even so, when his father flickered out, leaving the recliner and beer behind, Chuck felt a pang of loss.
“I’ll go ahead and rebook for next week.”
“Excellent, thank you sir.” She smiled and led him back out to the harsh reality of the waiting room.
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