The sleepy lizard sits in the sunroom. The sun warms him through the glass of the picture window. It is a good feeling. His eyes are closing. He sees his life. He used to be a lounge lizard. He had several women, sometimes two at the same time. Life was good. No one thought of death. Death did not exist. Only the moment. The taste of the gin, the feel of the woman, the aroma of the weed, the sensual haze, the music. The fading of reality into the languid flow of the surreal.

Long ago, but yesterday. Distant memories still in the room. The sunroom. The sun is warm through the glass. It is a good feeling.