He hobbled into the library, arms loaded with mail, and plopped in the armchair next to the me. Between rubbing his eyes, cleaning his super thick eyeglasses, he began scrutinizing every piece of mail. Something was obviously wrong with his eyes.
He: I woke up this morning and I couldn’t see. I couldn’t read the newspaper. I don’t know what’s wrong.
Me: Would you like me to read something for you?
He: (hugging his mail to his chest) Why would I let you read my mail?
Me: Sorry. I was just trying to help.
(A few moments pass. My phone vibrates. It’s Roy. So I pick it up and talk to him softly)
He: What did you tell them about me.
He: Okay. But you were whispering.
Me: Because we’re in a library.
(Another few moments pass)
He: Was that phone call from the North
Me: No. It was my husband
He: I don’t know about that. It sounded like it was from the North.
(He quickly gathers his stuff and shuffles out the library)