GUYMON, OKLAHOMA
Switching off the flashlight, Marvin walked from the tiny bathroom into gloom. The dim radio dial a beacon, he kicked his way through layers of trash carpeting the shack’s combination living room/kitchen/bedroom. His sister, before she died last year, would come over and scold him, trying to change his world. As soon as she left, Marvin brought in the trash bags, dumping them back onto the floor. He wanted his home to feel lived in.
Still, he missed Melinda. She was all the family he’d had. All that would admit to it, anyway. Sometimes he tried to remember where she was buried.