Edward is a simple man. He wakes up every day at 6:22 and drinks half a glass of water. He proceeds to run on the treadmill—walking for .2 miles, running for one mile and walking a cooldown for .2 more miles. 

Every morning, he eats 2 bowls of Quaker apples and cinnamon oats, carefully filling up the bowl with water until the oats begin to float at the top. Edward doesn’t like the off brands because they leave a starchy aftertaste in his mouth like the powdered milk his mother used to give him as a kid. 

After Edward eats breakfast, he sits in the chair he picked up on the side of the road with a cardboard sign with “free” scrawled on it. He knows the chair is ugly, but the brown and black plaid chair is comfortable. He grabs his pack of Camels, lights a cigarette, and inhales deeply. 

Edward wears the same clothes everyday. A midnight blue blazer with a matching tie. Ivory pants, black socks, and a slate gray fedora with a navy blue band, 1 inch thick. 

Edward leaves his house at 7:54 to go to work. Edward is a mail clerk. He appreciates the repetition. Receive. Sort. Deliver. Edward likes his job because he feels important. But in reality, Edward is invisible. His coworkers don’t even know his name and rarely speak to him. 

Edward, a man of routine, usually walks home after work and places his Swanson meatloaf and mashed potato tv dinner in the oven. He then watches Howdy Doody on his 12” black and white tv and goes to bed. 

Today, however, Edward decides to go to Phillies, the best bar in Cleveland. He did this because he overheard his coworkers talking about the fun they had at Fred’s birthday party, to which he was not invited. 

Arriving at Phillies, Edward orders a Schlitz on tap. He doesn’t even notice it’s half gone because he can’t stop thinking about never being invited to things. Edward gave Fred a birthday card when he took him his mail. Edward’s head spirals when he thinks about how the card is now sitting at the bottom of the trash. 

“There’s 16 silver spoons in my purse right now,” a woman says next to him. 

Edward snaps out of his thoughts to gaze at the woman sitting on his right. “What?” Edward asks.

“I stole silverware from the family I work for,” she states. “I had to. If I hadn’t I wouldn’t be able to pay my rent this month. I’m two months behind. And I have a leaky faucet that keeps me up at night. Drip. Drip. Drip. Constantly. Relentlessly. Endlessly. Makes me want to bash my head into the wall.”

Edward looks at the woman. She has bright red hair dyed to look like Rita Hayworth. Her shirt hangs from her bony shoulders, looking like she couldn’t afford to eat. Her bony hands reach for her gin and tonic, and she takes a sip. Her face puckers and she spits the drink back into the glass, leaving a red lipstick mark on the rim. 

“That is disgusting,” she exclaims, face still scrunched, while she reaches into her purse. Edward is slightly horrified, but more so curious as he watches the woman pull out a small Crisco container. The woman peels off the lid revealing eight lime slices. She then squeezes three lime slices in her drink. 

Smiling, Edward extends his hand, introducing himself.