I looked around his room; I didn't see the Sega Genesis.  Curtains were hiding the sun but you could see dust floating through the air.  There was a dank smell about the room, like he had been sweating all night.

"Do you want to read comic books?"  I asked.

"No." 

He didn't speak for a while and stared at me.  His eyes were as big as his head, as big as his fat neck.

He sat upright in his chair with an arm trying to grasp each knee.  His lips seemed like they were about to burst; I could hear him breathing.  I was standing opposite him a few feet away, but he was towering over me.

"Do you like magazines?"

"What kind of magazines?"  I replied.

"Well, you can choose from any of these," he said, trying to force a smile while struggling to breathe.  He showed me a paper with magazine covers of men without their shirt on; his hands were shaking.  Some pictures had faces of women smiling.  "You can pick 4 of these—"

I ran out of there before he could finish—out of his attic, past his grandmother's room and out the door.  That 40-year old bastard was trying to sell me subscriptions to Health & Fitness magazines so he could win a trip to Italy.