What We Can Do Without
by Jake Winn

Night came early that day, and not for the first time that week. Owen Smith woke from an inebriated sleep to discover his wallet missing. He checked underneath the bed, behind the dresser and around the toilet. He was wearing his pants still, and they smelt like cheap booze and bile. Out his window some kids were shoving each other into the street. Some cars passed by and sounded their horns at them. Breakfast sat heavy in his stomach and his head started to ache as he started to remember the things that had happened the night before. There were indistinguishable voices coming from the stairwell and, when they passed, the echo of a door closing. Owen laid back down. He turned on the TV, but there wasn’t anything on, so he turned off the TV and closed his eyes. His head was starting to feel better some, and the taste of coffee that lingered in his mouth made him feel awake again. The weed was stored in a tin underneath the table, and he rolled out a joint and smoked it. He went and got a beer from the kitchen. When he got a message back, he put the beer down on the table and got into the shower. The beer sweated a small puddle and was warm by the time he was dressed. He drank it anyway. Then he rolled himself a joint. At the train station he jumped over the turnstile just as the train was arriving and lurked in a corner and watched the young postman with his arm around a lady, and the construction worker nodding off. The doors opened and closed at two stops, and some people got on but not many, and Owen transferred at the next stop.