One Hundred and Fifteen

He is sitting alone on his sofa in his apartment. His television is on but the sound is muted and he's not paying attention to it. The word "grenade" is stuck in his head. "Grenade," he says out loud to himself. It sounds like a small island in the middle of the ocean made entirely out of sidewalk cement. "Grenade," he says again, and falls through a crack in the sidewalk, drowning.