In the park, Nigel sat hunched up on a wooden bench, absentmindedly reaching into bag of grain with arthritic hands and scattering handfuls onto the cement. His eyes remained fixed on the group of happy nubile teens chattering excitedly.
“They must be fucking each other,” he muttered underneath his breath. “Those dirty, shameless bastards.”
He knew he could have done better than any one of them, if only he hadn’t been screwed over. What could it have been like if only he had said yes to Esther? Back in high school, she asked if Nigel wanted to be in a threesome with her and her friend, but he told her he was busy. She laughed and assumed that he couldn’t get it up. Word spread, and he became the laughingstock that never got a chance to redeem himself. With everyone’s incessant taunting over the years, that
Nigel frowned at the memory. If he could show Esther now – no, not just her – if he could show just anyone, he would. Not once, not twice, but over and over and over again.
Except now he had nobody, except for the pigeons and sparrows that gathered around his feet. Nigel wondered momentarily how he, once so young and beautiful, could have transformed into something so decrepit and loathsome. He looked up again at the teens. They reminded him a lot of his schoolmates. Nigel narrowed his eyes into dagger thin slits.