He later explained that some people can't find his place so just leave, like I almost did. He was White, shorter than me, smooth, almost bald, and, ag...in, in his late 60s. And he was very, very gay. He wanted to chat first, again something I hate doing and I didn't have much to say. Finally we went to his bedroom.His home was decorated and furnished with souvenirs, portraits and pictures, statues, and such, all with a country-western and ranching theme. There were black and white photos of his. "Never?" Never?" she asked, alarmed. "Years?" A look of alarmed disgust, as her eyes flicked involuntarily to the offending object."Jeez, no. Like ... a couple of weeks." Weeks?" she asked. Even more puzzled. "Surely you've been ... longer than that." No. no," I said, realizing her misunderstanding. "I like ... throw one out, and get a new one. Every few weeks."Mom rolled her eyes. "You're throwing away my towels?!" As if this was the crime of the century. Funny that she could really care less. One thing for sure ... this is not MY earth ... not in 1902... 1999 maybe ... but not 1902. It's not Michigan either ... she'd freeze to death dressed like that in March. March is cold enough to crumble her cookie."Hello," I croaked.Magazine and chair went flying and so did she.Out the door she went screaming, "Sairaanhoitaja! Sairaanhoitaja! Hän on hereillä!"I understood every word ... yeah ... right.A very shapely older woman burst through the door ... she was obviously a Nurse ... White. . that is okay then. Still, it might do Gracie good to see ... I understand he is fat, I wonder if that can be used in some way to make a fire last longer?”“I will keep that in mind, Mother.”Marta had already arranged things, when Gracie woke up and was ready to eat she would buzz the kitchen, then wait until I was someplace else and she got buzzed back. Marta wanted to make sure Gracie was okay to see Irene and Tango. She said, with a giggle, that Qwit was tied up. It was probably literally.
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