Somedays, is it even worth getting out of bed?

WHAT'S WORTH THE RISK?

Richard lay flat on his back in his bed – some part of him knowing it was morning, but unwilling to open his eyes to confirm it. Some days were like that.

Maybe he shouldn’t have watched the late news before turning in, too much gloom and despair to take to bed with him. Snippets of it replayed behind his eyes: Putin’s skinny head, Madoff’s piggy eyes and little pursed mouth saying I’m sorry, who cares?

Wall Street’s melting into the gutters of New York and no one honest enough to say the D word. The latest suicide bomber’s smoking truck; was Richard the only one who saw the broken Beamer emblem on its hood? Bombers driving Beamers, what next?

Richard popped his eyes open and saw a wonderfully ordinary pale blue sky just outside his bedroom window. He arched his back and stretched, his arthritic old knees giving two little pops. Then he sat up and swung his legs to the floor. His right foot landed on Ralph’s tail and the little terrier gave out a yap of annoyance. Richard moved his foot and apologized, “Sorry buddy.”

The he got up and walked into the bathroom to pee. He turned the tap on, washed his hands and scooped cool water on his face three or four times, it felt so good.

He could hear the old Mr. Coffee machine pohp, pohp, pohpping the last bit of his morning coffee into the pot. He wiped his hands and face off and went to get a cup.

The old gray tomcat, Max, sat waiting for him at the back door, he knew the routine. Richard snagged his coffee cup, his glasses, and his book and opened the back door.

Then he and Max went out into the new day.