1-2-3-4 → 2-1-3-4 → 3-1-2-4 → 4-1-2-3
A short fat man, thinning on top, sits in an easy chair flipping channels and eating kettle chips from a funsize bag. From the precision tilting of his chair and the cushions at his back and bum, one might assume he suffers from lumbar discomfort, brought on by too many nights before the TV in stiff-backed chairs or upright leather sofas. And to counter his back problems, he chooses to perpetrate the very act that brought him the pain, oblivious to the irony as he pops open a Coke and stuffs in more kettle chips.
Then a woman walks in, younger than him by twenty years or so, greasy skin and overalls. A daughter living with her father, or vice versa? Soundlessly, she pegs her pinny on a coathook and glares, hands on hips, accusatorily. One can imagine her thoughts: “Still sitting there, you fat slob? Why don’t you get some exercise, fatty?” Her body language shows disdain: stepping around his carpet crumbs, over his fat ankles and into a chair. She reaches for the remote then makes a face at his greasy fingerprints all over the plastic. The image on-screen changes to a singer “pumping the air.”