The television was the first place he saw her, sitting at the desk with that man. The man next to her was of no consequence. Ritchie didn’t listen when the man talked, only when she talked, because she was sending him messages. She always began with “Good evening. I’m Linda Connelly and this is the Channel 3 News of the Day.” She wanted to be sure Ritchie knew who she was, so she said it every night. Ritchie knew who she was, and he knew what she wanted.

Tonight she was wearing brown, with a gold chain necklace. “So you like it rough, huh?” Ritchie said to the television. “You wear that color for me, Linda? Yea, just for me.” He watched her turn in her chair to the man of no consequence. He watched her say, “Thank you, Todd.” He watched her turn back to face him.

“That’s right, Linda,” Ritchie said, nodding his head and smiling. “You tell that man he is of no consequence. Tell him you belong to me. Let me hear you say it, Linda. Let me hear you say it.”

“We’ll be right back!”

“Oh yea baby!” he cried out. “That’s right. You’re coming right back to your daddy. “Cause you know you want some of this.” Ritchie rubbed his hands over his chest and sizeable belly. “You want some of this.” He smiled, stretched his arms out and rested them on the back of the couch. The girth of his midsection tested the limits of the fabric of his t-shirt. The jeans he wore were worn through at the knees, the hems frayed. His feet were bare, dirty, the nails unclipped. Deciding he needed another beer, Ritchie leveraged his way to the edge of the couch and rose. He swayed his way to the refrigerator, his scraggly black ponytail buffeting between his fattened shoulder blades. Opening the refrigerator, he noticed the sandwich he had made earlier was gone.

“She stole it!” he screamed, his round face grimacing behind the crumb-filled beard, the mustard-stained moustache. “She stole my sandwich. Oh, she thinks she”s so clever. That’s why she’s wearing the necklace, to taunt me.” In a falsetto voice, flapping his hands as if in imitation of a small bird, he mimicked, “I took your sandwich, Ritchie, and it was good. Oh, it was sooo good. What’s you gonna do about it, baby?”

Ritchie grabbed a beer and slammed the door shut. He could hear the television as he walked back to the living room.