fiction

Harry had flown all the way from New England to visit his son, Larry, and Larry’s girlfriend, Charity. Today, Harry left his walker in the narrow hotel  room, barely wide enough to get past the bed if you wanted to look out the window or use the small sink. The walker would have been easier on the street, but hard to bring down the four flights. There was no elevator, the historic building was still as it had been during the gold rush of ’06. 

They were in the University District of this West Coast City, somewhat reminiscent of Portland, but bigger. Today was Thanksgiving, the street devoid of the usual crowd of students. Even the Vietnamese, Bubble-Tea places were closed. They had just emerged from the vegetarian Vietnamese buffet about a mile from Harry’s hotel, which fortunately was open today. 

Harry made good time with the help of his solid hickory cane. He enjoyed getting ahead of his progeny and progeny’s significant other in their 20’s. When Harry had gotten about 30 feet ahead so it was safe to talk privately, Larry said to Charity: