I BOUGHT MYSELF A BIRTHDAY CAKE—BUT NO ONE CAME

Today’s my 97th birthday. No candles. No cards. No phone calls. I live alone above an old hardware store that’s been closed for years. The landlord lets me stay cheap—mostly because I fixed his plumbing last winter. My world’s small now: a creaky bed, a wobbly kettle, and my chair by the window where I watch buses go by. That window’s my company most days. This morning, I walked to the bakery two blocks away. The young girl behind the counter smiled politely like she didn’t recognize me, though I buy day-old bread there every week. I told her, “Today’s... Continues…

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