Sunday, the beginning of a week, a family’s survivors walk into the house for the last time. He was a stingy, cruel old bastard who finally choked to death on his whiskey in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. The house is finally selling and they gather to sweep away any remaining valuables and waiting for the Army Of Salvation to take away the remains of a sad, cruel life: a broken radio, a too lived in chair, furniture too used to be worth hauling away. A grandson in a pink shirt sleeps awaiting the dissipation of boredom. His new iPod lays on the floor. A pink lamp dangles in front of oblivion.