Some years ago I got a job. I was going to teach writing for the elderly, and took myself into notions that they were anything other than me, came from somewhere else, and were slow, perhaps with bad breath. Just the words writing lessons for the elderly aroused associations to other words in the same genre: cozy, care, permanent liquid, waffles, walking chair, cane.
We met ten times in the fall and ten in the spring. Once a week. One and one . . .
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