Elwood smiles gently as he hums a lazy blues tune, barely above a whisper. He flips the white bread, crackling in the pan, carefully so it doesn’t burn. Shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, tie hanging loose, his hairy arms catch the warm glow of the stove light.

He taps his foot against the cabinet door, rhythm steady, smile easy. Late night, quiet kitchen, just him and his dry white bread, same as always. Ain’t much, but it’s enough to keep the world from spinning too fast.