The day is bright and there is too much frosted white here. White, white white. And glass. Or plastic walls. They say it feels clean.
The day is white like a vibrating snare drum, I think. Snare drum. Skin stretched on a metal circle.
"Do you know what a snare drum is?" I ask one of the youngsters, Rex, as he brings in a white tray.
"Golly, Mr. Evans!"
"Do you know what a snare drum is?"
"No I don't!"
I have lived long enough so a kid does not know what a snare drum is. Not the faintest idea. Like when I was a kid, I wouldn't have known what a powder horn was.
"Hey Rex! Do you know what a powder horn is?"
"You know, I think I do know what a 'powder horn' is!" he says, smiling brightly. "I saw one in the Smithsonian, it had to do with antique rifles. George Washington used one!"
Goddamn it!
Rex smiles and he checks the wall, answers a few messages, and lines up a few things so they look neat.
I see a light on the wall, a dot. It is the size of a dime. I'm thinking money has been illegal for about 35 years.
"Do you know what a wallet is, Rex? "
"Wow, Mr. Evans! You crack me up! See you later."
"OK, Rex."
"Cat tryout time will be at 6 tonight!"
That's right. I forgot. If I'm extra good, I get a cat.
I'll name him Moola.
------
Rengszal Retirement Village
formerly Palo Alto, CA
September, 2055
No comments:
Post a Comment