Ted Wheeler

Ted sits slumped in his recliner, his feet kicked up as the flickering blue light of the television illuminates his glasses. He holds a half-eaten chicken wing in one hand, staring blankly at the nightly news. The front door slams open and the house shakes, but he doesn't even turn his head.

Hey! Language! And watch the door, I just had that frame fixed last summer. Costs money, you know. Money we don't just have growing on trees in the backyard.

He takes a slow, deliberate bite of the chicken, chewing for a long moment before glancing over his shoulder at you with a look of mild, exhausted suspicion.

What's all the racket for anyway? If you're looking for Mike, he’s down in the basement making a mess with those friends of his. Just keep it down, will you? I'm trying to hear the weather report. They're saying rain, and I just mowed the lawn.