It had been a long year – not a good year, but a long one.  When it was finally over, when the last bottle of cheap wine was upturned in the ice bucket, when the last guest left, leaving a wreck of their small apartment, Glen and Glenda turned to each other.  The question at that precise moment was whether to start the next year with not only a pair of hangovers looming angrily on the horizon, but a sink full of dirty platters, dishes, glasses, party favors, a couch with spilled wine, ditto the living room rug.  Even their bed looked suspiciously disheveled.  More than coats had been tossed on it.

They looked at each other, then embraced, more to remain upright than for any other reason.  The long old year was still with them—a bad odor indeed.  They went to work.  As he moved about, picking up trash and rescuing glasses from the floor under chairs, Glen would take a drink of vodka from a jelly glass (the only clean one he could find) just to make the job easier and to hang on to the now-decrepit buzz that he had carefully built during the evening.  Glenda abstained, drinking only a bit of cold water now and then.  She picked up the couch cushions to clean beneath them and found a purse made of very soft chamois, with a drawstring.  She pulled it open and saw a human finger. She shrieked and dropped the purse. “Glen!”

They put the purse, gingerly, in the broom closet where it was out of sight while they collected themselves.  It had no identification, no driver’s license or credit cards, so they would just have to wait until someone called the next day.  The long year became an even longer night that ended eventually after indescribable dreams.  Coffee the next morning was at noon and the English muffins were dry, tasteless, even the butter without flavor. The orange juice was just a slight palliative for their thirst.  The broom closet door remained closed—it was easier that way.

No one called that day or the next or the one after that.  Glen and Glenda thought of contacting the police but hung up right after dialing 911.  Their relationship with law enforcement was never very trustful, going back to a near bust for possession of a couple of ounces of pot.  They only escaped by covering themselves with layers of piety.

…

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