A man stares at his too-large belly. He's tired of middle age. From the wall, he takes down all the calendars. So many. He pages back toward the year of his birth. Waits for a young man to appear. A boy. A child. An unimagineable baby. But no. It's just him there still. His too-large belly and middle age. Stuck on one page of one calendar. Stuck on one box on that page. Passing through one moment within that box. He shakes his head hard. Flips ahead now. Pages after pages. Calendars after calendars. Waiting for a changed man to appear. Another unimagineable. But still it's just him. Just this moment. Carrying the weight of his expectations and desires. No one else is coming to take his place. And so he pulls on clothes and goes out into the day, leaving all those calendars scattered on the floor. Almost as if they meant nothing at all.