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All the young men marvel at him as he speaks. Them, in their brand new suits which were bought at the sacrifice of many a life’s luxury, Listen intently to the words that speed out of his mouth. All around the big oak table they jot down notes in the crowded space allotted. When seats became used up they stood, all bunched together, sport jacket to sport jacket, blackberry to blackberry. No one speaks, no one asks questions. Before this he was a man riddled with rumors that eventually turned into myths within the company. He ends his speech, thanks everyone and leaves the room. Speechless.

The secretary Sheryl looks up as he walks by. “How is the new team looking Greg?” Without missing a stride he responds, “Eager and motivated, just like me 30 years ago”, than disappears behind the door to his office. Sheryl smiles to herself as she returns to her work.

Rubbing his eyes, Greg Leans back in the large comfy leather chair behind a broad, hand made desk. The wood is smooth, but covered with piles of folders and loose papers. Behind the mounds of unkept work are picture frames. A beautiful women who holds a young boy in each arm. The kids wave ecstatically in the picture, the one on the left is missing a tooth in the top left side of his mouth. Behind them is a great tree, short, but very thick, and quite comfortably plotted in the ground. The sun is shining, and during the winter the lush grass in the open field, bordered far in the background by a wall of trees, is almost too much to look at.

There are other pictures, graduation day of each of the boys, the wedding of the one, the girlfriend of the other. Hidden away behind a flat panel computer monitor at the edge of the desk is an old man and women on vacation. She is wearing a sun hat, and he a Hawaiian T-shirt, half of the buttons are undone, and the shirt flaps in the winds that cruise across the ocean, cooling down the sun soaked skin of the old couple. Behind them, beyond the front of the ship the water glistens with the skies reflection, and stretches to infinity like the dreams of the young. Greg takes off his sport jacket. He runs his hand through his skim, grey hair, and takes a moment to be absorbed back into the memory.

He leaves early this day to beat out a busy subway ride, and get home early with all his aspirations accomplished. On the subway he chooses to stand for the six stops he has to wait, headed southbound. Going against the flow it’s not too busy, and he could easily find a spot to sit if he so chose. He straightens his red tie against his finely pressed white shirt, tucked in perfectly to his black suit pants. The dark triangles on this tie instantly made it his favorite, a bold yet successful choice for a birthday present from his now daughter in law.

In the seat some twenty feet away sits a punk rocker, equipped with a Mohawk, leather jacket with spikes protruding from all places and one of those chains that attaches to his wallet from one of the notches on his ripped worn blue jeans. He glances over too often at Greg, sneering at his corporate outfit. His face remains stern, but inside he laughs to himself, thinking all the while. “You pathetic corporate dog. HA, slave to the man, working away your existence all day long, your fucken sad man. And the worst part is I gotta share the subway with you. What, no company care today, aww so sad, you dress up like a clown everyday, and you still end up underground with the rest of us, the people ready to step up and make a real change in the world.” He dares Greg to look over at him; to stare into his hateful eyes. But Greg follows his own train of thought, and exits at his stop paying no mind.

Getting off in the new neighborhood he lives in he spots his next two places of business. First, the bar for a pint to unwind, than the small community grocery store to get the food needed for the next days early breakfast. Upon walking in he loosens up his tie and undoes a couple buttons, than proceeds to occupy one of the empty bar stools all lined up in a row. In a booth are a group of construction workers reminiscing about the hard week endured, and cursing the extra day they all have to do on their weekend. “A bunch of hard working chaps”, Greg thinks, “coming down here to let loosen up after a proper day put in, they keep this world a spinnin”.

“What can I get ya”. An over weight man comes over to him. “Well I would do with a pint of Guiness to wash away today’s work.” He walks over to get the beer, “sure think boss”. As he pours the pint the bartenders thoughts wonder. He sees the mess of his shirt and tie, and presumes to know the guys life based on it. “sure” he thinks, “Five O’clock pint, old man, no suit, thick unshaved stubble. Just another guy who never made it to the place he thought he would. No problem I can get this pint for ya, and the next one to come. You just keep on drinking your forgotten dreams away bud, I’ll be here all night, and it’s all I serve.”

The bartender hands the beer over, unconcerned of his customer. “It’s 6.50 now, and it aint a problem to start a tab for ya”. Greg hands a twenty to the man, “No thanks, this will do fine, just a ten back please.” He takes his time to finish the beer, about twenty minutes, than leaves without another word spoken. On the street now, headed to get the groceries he untucks his shirt, and in the light breeze it flutters softly like the felt of a proudly raised Canadian flag.

In the grocery store he takes seven minutes to gather all the food into a green basket, than makes his way to a short line up at the front. “how are you doing sir” A bright smiling face greets the now weary looking old man. “Oh good good thanks”, the faint wiff of beer turns her off instantly, and she bows her head down while scanning his items with a noticeable expedition of speed. “Yeah great day isn’t it, you asshole, smiling at me like that, your four times my age perv. Go get plastered at home sicko, and watch porn if you wanna get friendly with a young girl so bad”. She doesn’t make eye contact when she petitions for the 32 dollar and 72 cent tab, “Have a good day sir”, and with that Greg leaves the store.

Upon reaching home, which only takes eight minutes from the grocery store, he packs away the items, making sure a second time he got everything he needed. The house is empty right now which means his wife is still out with the car finishing her errands. Greg eases into his arm chair and kicks the leg rest up. He slips his tie off and tosses it to the new leather couch they bought when they moved in. He flips the channel to news, but soon drones off into sleep. His head is filled with kidnappings and stabbings and accidents on the 401. In Toronto, they’re just the new lot of people becoming victims during the daily walk through life.

When Greg comes to its late. He squints at the clock above the black tv screen, 9:25. Lifting his body from the arm chair that has absorbed his form feels like lifting a boot out of the vacuum suck of thick mud. He kicks the leg rest back into its shell, and wavers over to the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror he unbuttons his shirt and slips it off onto the bathroom floor, his body hair, from his shoulders to his chest, are a mess behind the old thinned white wife beater he is now standing in. look at you old man. Look at your grey hairs, look at your old wrinkly body. You’ve had it, your bones are weak and your muscles are exhausted. He remembers how years ago he could work three shifts of work before getting faint; now, he skips out of work early and can’t even make through the evening news.

He stares a few more moments at an old cracking mold of a man, that was once a statue of success. He now slides his pants and socks off, and makes his way to bed where his wife is waiting, reading another thick book about the trials of life. “We have everything ready for tomorrow?” Without look up she replies. “Yes dear, all that’s left is to go to bed and wake up early”. Greg slips in beside her and kisses her on the cheek. He rolls over to hide his face from the reading lamp and already begins to nod off. “It sure will be nice to see the kids again”. She puts down her book and pauses, than a smile draws on her face, it sure will.

In no time Greg is asleep, and his wife bookmarks at chapter 17. She looks over at her sleeping husband. His broad shoulders illuminated in the light of the single reading lamp, all else around him are mere shadows of his success and diligent work. She rolls over on her side facing the same way as him. She places her left hand on his hairy bicep. Her right hand supports her body at the elbow while her hand faintly strokes against the back of his neck. Her finger traces along his scalp, lost deep within the brush like a traveler moving through an untreked forest.

As her gentle caresses ease the weary body she thinks of her good fortune to be so close to such a man. A man whose success was brought on by nothing short of his tireless work efforts. His two kids raised properly by his resolute, yet just sterness. Through all the trials over the years he never fained to love her, never was too tired to dance closely with her to their favorite songs in the candle light after the kids were gone to bed. When he was wrong he would admit it with his head held firm and straight, and when he was right he was patient and delicate to her pride. Over all these years he has built her dreams, layer by layer, and brick by brick. She turns over to switch off the lamp when she notices a picture of the whole family some ten odd years back. The grandparents from both sides and the kids and them standing outside their first house. She smiles back at the faces in the picture, and a single tear dribbles down her cheek. It sure will, she thinks, it sure will.