Sam the Weatherman

Chloe knew a woman about 14 years her senior named Melba who lived down Mott Street across from the park. Her apartment was on the fourth floor directly above Ng Fook Funeral Services, LLC. Melba had told her that, in theory, living above a funeral home was rather morbid, but in practice it provided quite the contemplative atmosphere. "Being reminded of one's own impending death every day when one comes home keeps a person more alive," she had said.

Over hot tea one sunny afternoon in Melba's small living room overlooking the park, she confided to Chloe her disdain of the new blonde haired local news station anchor. You see, Melba had recently caught on to some potential flirting between her beloved "Sam the Weatherman" and said blonde woman as of late, and had become perturbed. She thought Sam was the ultimate man: handsome, funny, witty. She had told Chloe months ago that he wasn't cheesy and superficial "like those other weathermen." Melba had always felt Sam was all hers from 5am to 7am every morning, that they were meant to be together, she and Sam the Weatherman. When Chloe and Melba would meet for pork buns at Ho Won Bakery, she would always recount to Chloe some witty remark he had recently made about politics or the news.

But now, today, after a hot cup of tea, Melba felt less alive.