Roger arrived home to find the wallpaper peeling off the top of his kitchen wall, a
startling example of the law of entropy. “More glue,” he thought grimly, as he tripped on
the threshold. When he came to, it was dark outside, & his soup was quite cold.
There he was. How many times had Irene watched, in rapt attention, as he had calmly and
knowledgeably predicted a cold front moving in on the ten o’clock news? And there he was,
fumbling for the keys to his ’88 station wagon. All she needed was a pretext.
Roger’s eyes welled up. He was peeling an onion & listening to radio news, commenting
loudly on every point. His cat watched, trying to figure out the code, how he responded to
what sorts of phrases, but it was all inscrutable, especially the crying part.
Roger stood on the deck, undoing his necktie and looking for the cat. Too late, he spotted
it — nonchalantly trailing a young woman down the sidewalk! Call out, give chase? How
awkward, he thought. Frozen in indecision, he watched them walk away together.
