With one hand, Gerry dug sleep out of the corner of his eyes, and with the other hand, he dug through the freezer for one of the Hungry Man frozen dinners stacked at the back. He didn’t bother to pick out a preference; they all tasted like cardboard and plastic anyway. He just grabbed, knocked the tray out of the package, stabbed at the covering absent-mindedly with a fork, and tossed it in the microwave. “Still better than Arcadia and Francois,” he said, and slammed the door closed.