It wasn’t difficult. Patience was arguing with a sandwich deliveryman. The front door had a push-bar. Arthur pushed. The air outside was cold and tasted of rain and real things. He walked. His legs were unreliable, two old twigs wrapped in corduroy, but they carried him.
His dotage was not a gentle decline. It was a siege. Dotage
Elara put him in Sunny Meadows, a place that smelled of boiled cabbage and despair. His room was cheerful: a yellow blanket, a photo of a man he was told was his son (he had a son? The news felt like a small, distant explosion), and a plastic plant. He hated the plastic plant. It was a lie. It wasn’t difficult
He walked until he found a park bench. The trees were bare. A woman sat at the other end, feeding crumbs to pigeons. She was old, like him, but her eyes were clear. She wore a red coat. Arthur pushed