mold age


This morning when the five o’clock alarm chimed I was mostly awake. My hands, relatively unarthritic before summer began, ached and were stiff. My right index finger did its spring-loaded trick: it unfurls a bit, catches, and then with additional force switchblades into straightness.

I don’t want to be one of those old people who focuses on his infirmities. It will take vigilance: today I do.

mold age

many elders are at sea

oleo or e f g

dimmer mort conturbs at me


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