by Heather Baver
Evenings, after dinner time, were the worst. Most of the retirement community was “plugged in” in the lounge. An electronic bingo game was in progress in the back corner. A tall, silver-haired man presided, his wife by his side. Two rows of boisterous participants hunched over their screens, knobby fingers sweeping to mark the board each time a letter and number combination was called.
Anna paced the lounge, sneakers softly padding the carpet. Hush, hush. The tennis balls on the back of her walker whispered against the short-pile carpet. Her left leg dragged behind every few steps, making its own protest. She frowned down at it as though it were a naughty child.
Big puffy armchairs and sofa held counsel around an electronic fireplace in the center of the room. Tonight these were filled with an assortment of gray-haired men and women, their e-readers cradled tightly in…
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