Pablo Robles sat on the living room couch, impatiently clicking channel after channel until he finally gave up and left the TV on the sports network. Football scores and highlights filled the screen, along with the annoying, sappy commentary the hosts always chattered. One stupid joke after another flowed between the overweight, balding has-beens, almost as if they were flirting with one another. He might have been in his early forties, like the announcers were, but he’d be damned if he ever got caught winking and smiling at another man.
Still fidgety, Pablo tried raising his arms behind his head, and clasping his fingers together, but that only lasted for a few seconds. Anxiously, he clasped both knees, trying to will his palms to remain motionless, and he found some success doing this, until he caught his body unconsciously leaning forward and his head turned towards the kitchen. He had a clear view straight to the sink, where his oldest daughter Elsie was busy doing the dishes. It took some willpower for him to make his body lean back against the cushions, and then his hands were fluttery again, scratching at his nose, tugging at the folds of his shirt, and more often than not, adjusting the considerable bulge under his shorts.
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