“No – the best thing for you Marlon, is to go home.”

“Mmm,” Marlon grunted, dejected.

Back to daytime T.V… but only watching.

“The ticket is first class.”

“Mmm.”

Who cares… you’d end up there anyway.

You are first class!

“Marlon, go down to that apartment in Miami you always spoke about. Find yourself a nice woman down there…”

Singh paused, allowing his suggestion to sink in.

Is it possible?

Some nice (young) woman…

Who knows? Singh seems to think it is!

And… with a chunk of Viagra…

“Marlon… you need to enjoy yourself. You deserve it. You’ve been working too hard.”

“Mmm.”

Marlon still felt some impulse to resist and for a moment stared defiantly at Singh, but the power had gone from his eyes and he was left gazing out the window, increasingly despondently.

And then he saw it, a mangey, limping, bleeding dog.

There you are old son – just another lost dog.

No home to go to… no one who cares.

An irrelevant old dog.

“Give up on this Marlon – it’s over,” Singh said as he handed him the ticket.

Marlon reluctantly took the ticket.

He wished he could do something – make a speech or receive a gold watch or walk the red carpet or something. As it was, he couldn’t even speak – the prescient image of the sad old dog overwhelming him completely.

Only death…

Waiting for you old son…

Just around the corner.

“Good-bye Marlon. You’ve been great.”