Senior’s Residence

Yesterday I visited a friend in a senior’s residence. It was exactly as you might imagine. Quiet except for the chatter of the staff and soft music flowing from somewhere. Several elderly people were slumped over and dozing off in armchairs. One man was guarding the entrance, a resident I presume. He would unbolt the door whenever anyone came through. He had a bottle of rubbing alcohol in his pocket to cool off his skin, he said.

The backyard was large and beautiful, with several mango and ackee trees. Clothing fluttered on a line and these chairs were lined up, waiting for people to enjoy the breeze, I assume. It was not as bad as I would have imagined, this place where people go to expire.

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