Transcription: People say sorry. I just say thank you, yes, ninety-three, and ready to go, graceful. As if I had risen from a seat in the dark, turned, and walked up the aisle with the credits rolling behind me. One guy, some sort of ex-brother-in-law, says how every Christmas they hanged the snowflakes, bells, and angels she crocheted and starched that one year. I leave doors and windows open, wrap against the chill, while rain spatters porches and walks. A rental, pleasant. The undetermined last month already paid. The sun comes out, I throw off the robe. A spider shining in the back door jasmine, mothers ...