Meaningless

He had just spilled a Budweiser on his purple, leather couch when the door bell rang, and the soft sound of whispers permeated the dangerously thin apartment walls. He shot a glance back over his discolored and hairy shoulder, closely analyzing the curvy silhoutte falling across the cloudy glass plane that served as the top half of the door since a particularly intoxicated morning. With a sharp snap he lifted his legs from the sticky piece of furniture as his bulging body awkwardly tried to follow. After stumbling across the faded navy carpet and through the various plastic wrappers that enveloped it, he managed to successfully unjam the rusty and unrecognizable doorknob to discover a woman clad in a monotone grey jumpsuit closely clutching an oversized cage that reached her waist. Apparently unphazed by his disheveled appearance and outfit consisting of a wifebeater and boxers, she proceeded to move into the apartment, explaining that the court had ordered the immediate removal of his two dogs to the Humane Society. Yet her words had already faded into clamor, as he fixed his eyes back upon the captivating images of a infomercial for knives. Silently, the woman collected the weary animals from a pen in a room with a mattress, dully noting the torn college diploma that was being used as the dogs' pee pad. On the heavy trek back to the door she paused as she walked passed an eviction notice, immediately feeling the urge to say something, even if only the back of his balding head would receive it. It was a worthless gesture, for only the mundane broadcasts of commercialized entertainment had meaning to the man anylonger.