He stared past his television. He stared off into the abyss that was his life. He ran his hand through his greasy hair and across his four-day old stubble.

“What the hell and I doing with myself?” He spoke to no one in particular. He was alone except for his dog, a golden retriever named Pal.

“I am such a loser. I can’t believe I’ve just wasted a prime party weekend sitting on my ass.”

Pal raised his head from the floor and spoke clearly, “You know, a man alone always talks too much.”