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Writer's picturePaula F. Hill

Wheel of fortune.


He flung his arms akimbo, wrestling wtih the wheels at his side to propel him down the glossy hallway.

"Hello! What's your name?"

"Hi, Paula," I replied.

"Are you married? the scruffy grey-haired double chin asked.

"Am I married?"

Haven't been shot that question in awhile, never from a man bent in half by a wheelchair.

"Yes."

Haha nervous laugh projected back.

"No."

"You don't look like you're married!"

Is that supposed to be a jab, joke, stab-at-my-heart, kidding fun?

"Have a nice night!" he cavorted, ignorant of my chagrin.

I scowl then chckle at my own indignation. Turn the corner to the last room on the left to visit my infirm friend.

She got a kick out of the story anyway!

I'm not so sure I'll survive the wit.


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