I don't even know why I'm writing this down, it's just... I'm an old man, right? Or I guess I'm supposed to be. Just retired last year, after forty years in the same damn office, same damn desk, you know? And suddenly there's nothing. Just days stretching out like some kind of barren landscape. My wife, god bless her, she's gone a few years now. The kids are grown, got their own lives, their own problems. So I'm just… here. And I got this card game, or I *had* this card game, every Wednesday with the guys. We’ve been playing poker, the same nickel-dime stakes, for thirty years. Through everything. Kids born, wives passing, promotions, firings, you name it. It was our thing. My thing, I guess. It was the only damn thing left that felt like *me* after I stopped working. I mean, who am I without the job? Without the daily grind? Just… some old guy, I guess. And lately, it’s just been falling apart. First Dave got sick, then Frank moved down south with his daughter, and then poor old Harry… well, Harry just went. Like, gone. So last week, it was just me and old George. George, who always falls asleep in his chair anyway. And I’m looking at him, slouched there, cards slipping out of his hand, and I just… I don’t know. I found myself thinking, like, ‘Please, just… pass on, George.’ I mean, I don't even— what kind of a thought is that? For a friend? A man I’ve known since we were practically kids ourselves? To wish him… to wish him gone so I don’t have to deal with the slow, agonizing end of the one thing that still connected me to… to something. To *anything*. It’s morbid, it’s horrible, and I actually had the thought. And I kinda chuckled to myself, a little bit, like a nervous tick. Cause what else can you do, right? Laugh at your own damn dark thoughts. So now I'm just sitting here, 2 AM, staring at the ceiling, thinking about George and how next Wednesday it'll probably just be me, sitting at the table, dealing cards to an empty room. Or maybe George won't even show up. Maybe he'll just… stop. And then what? No more poker. No more Wednesday. No more anything. And I keep thinking about that awful thought I had, and how guilty I feel, but also, like, a part of me is still kinda there, in that awful place. Just wanting it to be over. The slow fade. The quiet disappearance. It’s not just the card game, I guess. It’s everything. And I just don't know what to do with myself anymore. The days are just... empty. So empty.