in my younger days, my preacher father would take me along with him to the nursing home where he would visit the old people

i never liked it much, no one likes places like that



sometimes, there would be a sing-along which made me like it even less


i would hear them say that they don't get visits and how they felt forgotten

how they were forgotten

there were times my hate for the place was outweighed by my disdain for those who had forgotten those forgotten

there were times I would be sitting in the crowd listening to my father wondering when he would just wrap it up and I would look around and I would notice some of the old folks sleeping and if there was an orderly sitting near the sleeping ones, they would slowly, almost unperceptively reach out for the wrist and check for a pulse.

"life is but a vapor" is what I thought


chemically speaking there is no difference between a foul stench and a pleasing aroma