Mr. Williker’s jade eyes twinkled as he sat in the old, rusty rocking chair on his front porch. "Gee, Tasha, I don’t know," he said, gently parting his lips as he swallowed another gulp of his iced lemonade. He rocked quietly for a while, gazing off toward the neighborhood children at the bottom of his hill as they chased a large orange playground ball down the sides of the street. He folded his wrinkled hands neatly across his chest as he watched them run, laughing, under the light of the evening’s sunset. It was a beautiful sunset, he thought, the reds and yellows melting through the vast sky. In fact, it had truly been a beautiful day; and slowly, the day began to transform into an even more beautiful night. Mr. Williker remained silent, watching the sky’s reds darken into blues and purples, then eventually drain to a lush black. Kitchen lights in the houses below lit up grassy backyards and he could see families gathering inside for their warm dinners. He expected his wife to be calling him into the house soon, too, for their own supper. In fact, he already got a whiff of Tasha’s homemade apple crisp as it cooled on the kitchen windowsill. She had always enjoyed preparing dessert first- she said it would make dinner taste that much better. Mr. Williker agreed. He inhaled and smiled as the cinnamon aroma ambushed his senses. Yup, it smelled the same as it always had. Feeling the cooler air sweep up under his pant legs, Mr. Williker leaned forward in the chair- his favorite chair, he liked to think, that he had rocked in every evening for the past forty years. The one belonging to his wife faithfully sat next to his, lifeless. He liked to dust it every once in a while for her, in case she cared to join him again. Mr. Williker pushed his frail body up onto the floorboards and bent over to retrieve his now empty glass. The half-melted ice cubes clinked together as their music joined that of the crickets and the cicadas. Closing his eyes, Mr. Williker took a deep breath and felt the cool September breeze saturate his lungs. He stretched his tired legs as he waited for his rocking chair to slow and grow quiet again before he approached the porch’s screen door. He then carefully pulled it open and retreated into his empty home.