The dishes needed washing, stacked high in the sink and crusted with days of food. But Vance sat on the sofa.

The floors needed sweeping, bits of dry skin and dirt from outdoors mingling with dust bunnies and food crumbs. But Vance stayed on the sofa.

The phone needed answering, work calling to wonder why he wasn’t in, what he was doing, where he had been the past week. But still, Vance was one the sofa, lost to the crushing weight of existence.