Chubby was crying as he lay spread-eagle on the broken floor. He was alone. Latin music drifted over the rooftops.

***

Chubby let himself into his dark apartment and felt his way to the bathroom. He sat on the fur-covered toilet lid in the blackness and smoked a cigarette in painful slow motion, flicking the ashes after each puff into the sink. His arms and legs felt stiff and heavy. His head felt huge—too big to be supported by his neck, and he let it droop onto his chest. When he eventually stood up to lift the lid and drop the butt into the toilet, his whole body ached as if all his joints and tendons were inflamed. Sitting on the edge of the tub, he ran his thick fingers through his hair, then slowly began to unlace his shoes. He took off his socks, flexed his toes and lit another cigarette. This one he ditched in the sink. Every once in a while he thought of Sooky and his body would twitch as if he'd just received a small electric shock. If a clear image or a vivid moment flashed across his brain, he flinched it away in a muddy blur. The cigarettes helped. He chain-smoked, ignoring his strangled lungs, his raw ripped throat. A smoky haze drifted through the small room. He followed a slow snaky wave of smoke until it wandered ghostlike into the hallway.

Chubby refused to collect his thoughts. He concentrated on each puff, listening to the soft crackle of tobacco and paper. He tried to say her name, but all that came out of his mouth was a stuttering hiss. Leaning over the tub, he peered through the partially open tiny frosted window at a vast field of buildings and a scattered grid of lit windows. Elbows on the window ledge, he watched as the constellation of lights randomly diminished by ones and twos. He was reminded of the logo for "Million Dollar Movie," the shot of the clapboard superimposed over the nighttime New York skyline, the theme from Gone With the Wind playing in the background. Jackie Gleason came to mind. Many years ago, some of his friends called him Ralph because he looked like Ralph Kramden. He absently hummed "Melancholy Serenade," the theme song from "The Honeymooners." "To the moon, Alice!" he muttered, then chuckled. His back started aching. He pushed himself erect, away from the window, slowly rubbed his hand across his expansive belly, and ran tap water to wash the ashes down the drain. He squeezed an inch of toothpaste into his mouth and ran his tongue across his teeth, spitting the toothpaste out under the thin stream. He sucked air through his tingling mouth, spat again and turned off the water. Chubby felt his way down the foyer to the bedroom, running his palm against the cool wallpaper, making a smooth sliding sound until he got to the doorway. As he sat on his side of the bed, Phyllis moved under the blankets.