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If wishes were horses ...
He didn't understand what interrupted the reverie, but he became aware that he was still alone. The mattress and the television were in the place he remembered them being when he entered the small room, and there was no sign of anyone else. No jailer, no tormentor, but a memory of cheap aftershave unsuccesfully masking body odor lingered, just beyond the edge of consciousness.
The television's old Bakelite dial contained 12 channels of static. The channel 2 static was more comforing and he left it on, so that at least there was something familiar here.
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