Reluctant Solitude

 A cone fell from a dying pine onto a rusty-roofed Mercedes startling the man. He regarded his cluttered yard and neglected garden before walking down his driveway to his mailbox. Finding it empty he turned; walked back past his neglected garden, through the cluttered yard and toward his hoarded house.

“Welp, maybe tomorrow”, he muttered aloud to no one and shut the door.