When I'm sixty four
He flushed the used rubber down the toilet, watching the swirl as the water disappeared then reappeared.
Standing naked, scratching his nuggets, he farted, and put his thumb in his nose.
What came out was dry on one side, and sheep-leggeded into something moist, which wiggled as he moved it closer to look at it.
Flicking it away it backfired, landing in his chest hair. He picked it off a graying hair and put it into his mouth.
“You coming back to bed or not,” he heard her say.
He looked at himself in the mirror.
Bald.
Fat.
Yes. I’m coming back to bed.
He closed the light in the bathroom,
and walked back to the bedroom.