He sat by the back door, looking through the dirty glass. The world outside looked cold and gray. He wondered if maybe he cleaned the glass, things might look less dreary.
His mind was racing with thoughts of everything he'd ever done to embarrass himself. Why? He didn't know. It's as if his mind was on a mission to make him feel worse. Or what if it was a way to remind him that things are much better now?
It doesn't matter now. What's done is done. He looks to the glass.
A spray of glass cleaner.
Wipe of a cloth.
Things look much clearer now.
He thinks he should clean it from time to time.