Arthur

He sits alone. Another night. The opposite side of the dining room table is pristine as he gathers his grubby plate. Slowly, and with effort, he stands.
   "Oh, Edna. You'll never guess what happened today. I was at the butcher's and that man, the one you always said was thick as mince, he got to talking to me." Arthur stands by the sink, smiling. "Apparently he's doing a Masters in biochemistry, whatever that is. I suppose you can't tell these days, they'll let anyone in!"
   He laughs hoarsely, stretching his elbows until they crack. A spot of gravy from the plate falls onto his hand, blending in with the cluster of liver spots. Edna's 'when I was young' speech echoes around his mind.
   "It's always changing, in't it?" he says to the drawn yellow curtains. His smile fades. "Everything always changes."
   Arthur leaves the kitchen, and his body creaks as he enters the dim lounge. The walls are piled high with books. Edna's photo smiles at him lovingly from the mantelpiece. He lowers himself into his half of the two-seater sofa, flicking the remote and allowing noise to fill the room.
   Over the laughter of the telly, Arthur strokes the indent in the leather beside him. He ignores the screen,  focusing solely on the returning gaze of his wife, smiling at him from the photograph above.