Dotage -

It wasn’t difficult. Patience was arguing with a sandwich deliveryman. The front door had a push-bar. Arthur pushed. The air outside was cold and tasted of rain and real things. He walked. His legs were unreliable, two old twigs wrapped in corduroy, but they carried him.

“Hello,” she said. “Lovely day for a jailbreak.” Dotage

His dotage was not a gentle decline. It was a siege. It wasn’t difficult

She took his hand. Her fingers were cold, but they were real. Arthur pushed

He walked until he found a park bench. The trees were bare. A woman sat at the other end, feeding crumbs to pigeons. She was old, like him, but her eyes were clear. She wore a red coat.

Arthur believed the forgetting started in his thumbs.

“I… know you,” he whispered, the words scraping out of a dry throat.