A green gooseneck chair in a square room.
The box television with its ears at attention.
The scattered lines across the screen against the grassy turf background.
Perched on the iron end table it hangs.
A coffee can of ash below.
He laddles it, packing it thumb down before puffing and sucking the matchstick flame.
Sweet smells of tobacco surround the staticy cheers of the boxed crowd.
Touchdown.
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