I fear going to work.  I honestly do.  There's not the economic incentive, when I'd try to match the rest, paying off mortgages...

I know the lonesomeness of the day off.  I walk out passed the reservoirs, past the firehouse, past the big old movie theater that is now a CVS to go through my to do to get list.  I bring my prescriptions to the pharmacist counter in back, and then down a few blocks, wearing my nurses mask for pollen, past a little row of restaurants and the old dead Safeway to the cool refurbished library to bring back some books.  I am still interested in the books, and would like to keep them, but my head doesn't feel up to the task, nor to picking out more books, and I end up with a yoga book.

Back at the drug store, I get my Metro Card charged up with $35, and the things off my list, and just as I'm paying, I get the text that my things have been filled.  I go back to the counter, and it turns out they're giving flu shots, so...

My interactions are few by the time I get back to the apartment.  I have a bite to eat, roast beef, and take a nap, and then I get up to do some yoga in the fading light, out on the bluff, as it is cool underneath the pine tree grove, and too late for light.

There's the river out below me, and the long shadows now against the far bank, blue, over the green water.  Some neighbors chat with each other on the street.

I sense later, after going to the market, drinking my wine, what it's like to be old, not having anyone to visit with.