Out of the shower, I sit on the sofa with a beer, drying my hair with a towel. The TV People’s television is still sitting on the sideboard. I pick up the remote control from the table and push the “on” switch. Again and again I press, but nothing happens. The screen stays dark. I check the plug; it’s in the socket, all right. I unplug it, then plug it back in. Still no go. No matter how often I press the “on” switch, the screen does not glow. Just to be sure, I pry open the back cover of the remote-control unit, remove the batteries, and check them with my handy electrical-contact tester. The batteries are fine. At this point, I give up, throw the remote control aside, and slosh down more beer.

Why should it upset me? Supposing the TV did come on, what then? It would glow and crackle with white noise. Who cares, if that’s all that’d come on?

I care. Last night it worked. And I haven’t laid a finger on it since. Doesn’t make sense.

I try the remote control one more time. I press slowly with my finger. But the result is the same. No response whatsoever. The screen is dead. Cold.

Dead cold.

I pull another beer out of the fridge and eat some potato salad from a plastic tub. It’s past six o’clock. I read the whole evening paper. If anything, it’s more boring than usual. Almost no article worth reading, nothing but inconsequential news items. But I keep reading, for lack of anything better to do. Until I finish the paper. What next? To avoid pursuing that thought any further, I dally over the newspaper. Hmm, how about answering letters? A cousin of mine has sent us a wedding invitation, which I have to turn down. The day of the wedding, the wife and I are going to be off on a trip. To Okinawa. We’ve been planning it for ages; we’re both taking time off from work. We can’t very well go changing our plans now. God only knows when we’ll get the next chance to spend a long holiday together. And to clinch it all, I’m not even that close to my cousin; haven’t seen her in almost ten years. Still, I can’t leave replying to the last minute. She has to know how many people are coming, how many settings to plan for the banquet. Oh, forget it. I can’t bring myself to write, not now. My heart isn’t in it.