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I remembered the droning of his voice, but not the words. My mind had been wandering, but what had I been thinking about? I looked up at the man, scrutinized his face. Clearly, he was a doctor; who else wears a white coat? Had our regular doctor died or retired?

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Probably not. I was sitting in a leather chair. My wife, Rose, was sitting in an identical chair, next to me. Between the chairs was a small wooden side table with a crystal vase of fresh-cut flowers sitting on it, where an ashtray should have been in any civilized place.

I looked around for an ashtray. There were no ashtrays. I reached into the pocket of my Members Only jacket and found my cigarettes. I lit one. Flickering fluorescent tube lights embedded in low, drop-in ceilings. This doctor was sitting behind a heavy wood desk, with a fancy-looking computer on it.

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Shelves lined the walls of the office, filled with books and daniel friedman options trophies and toys. I looked at the floor. Daniel friedman options rug over hardwood parquet.

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The rug looked expensive. I was going to ash on that expensive rug unless this doctor offered me an ashtray. He looked at my cigarette. I looked him in the eyes, daring him to tell me to put it out. He offered me his coffee mug, and I tapped my cigarette against the side of it. So, this was definitely not the hospital.

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And also, there was no piss smell. We must have been at one of the medical parks or a clinic of some kind. The doctor was one of the daniel friedman options. I looked at Rose. She seemed upset. Embarrassed, maybe. Had Daniel friedman options said something that had embarrassed her? I almost certainly had.

What could he have to say that was new, or any different from what a procession of doctors had been telling me for the last fifteen years? That I was on a slow, steady decline, breaking down and wearing out, daniel friedman options by little? That I was moving inexorably toward a single, predictable destination?

No shit, Sherlock. My walker was parked by the door, and it was going to take me a while to totter over to it, so I figured I might as well get started. But Rose put a hand on my arm. Do you remember what this man just told us? But it was clear I was caught. After nearly seventy years together, she had seen all my tricks. Either I could give in and tell her I had no idea who he was, or I could bluff.

There were a number of possibilities. I had a cardiologist, daniel friedman options heart guy. He was older than this doctor, though, a bald man in his early sixties.

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I could even remember his name: Dr. Richard Pudlow. Funny name for a Donchian channel for binary options cat. I had an ear, nose, and throat guy, and also an audiologist. I got a hearing aid last year, and going around with that thing jammed in my ear canal caused a lot of earwax buildup, so I had to go get that taken care of every few months.

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The audiologist would stick a little loop of wire down into my ear and dislodge a reddish-brown hunk of daniel friedman options foulness about the size of a pencil eraser. Going there was a real fun time. Lots of jokes about mining for treasure. I had a gastroenterologist. I had an episode a while back where I started shitting blood.

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The gastro guy determined it was a sloughing of necrotic intestinal tissue and that it was normal, although they still put me on IV fluids daniel friedman options kept me for observation for three days on account of my advanced age and generally frail condition. When you get to be eighty-nine years old, occasionally your guts just die inside you. But I remembered the smell; his office was in the hospital.

The daniel friedman options guy. That rang a bell. A distant, quiet bell, but still a bell. I looked around again. I had been here before. Sat in this chair. Listened to the doctor talking at us. Lit a cigarette to be confrontational. Ashed in the coffee swap and option. How could I forget?

I used to be able to memorize a face, but lately the details that used to stand out in my mind seemed to blend together. Now I was sure I could recall having seen this man. It had just gotten so hard to keep a grasp on things. She shook her head again. And he was so strong for all of us for many years, and now I ought to be strong for him.

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I feel like I am alone. Betrayed, is how I feel. His forehead crinkled, and his eyebrows knit together. He looked thoughtful and sympathetic. Do you have children?

We made daniel friedman options way, slowly and in silence, down a quiet, carpeted hallway, out a door, and into a waiting room. A very thin woman with a schmate covering her head was sitting in a chair reading a magazine.

She looked up at us, her sunken yellow eyes staring out from the bottoms of deep purple-black hollows. I realized I was still holding a lit cigarette. I considered putting it out, but once you start making accommodations for even one cancer lady, you find yourself on a slippery slope.

I decided, instead, to just get out of there as quickly as I could. We walked in silence through the building lobby and out to the parking lot. But Rose just pointed as our Buick pulled up to the curb.

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An aide from Valhalla Estates, the assisted lifestyle community for older adults where Rose and I lived, was driving it. She had some music playing on the radio, so loud I had to turn down my hearing aid.

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Although, if she wanted to avoid sharing space with the grim specter of death, she certainly picked the wrong line of work when she applied for a position at Valhalla. She shifted the Buick into park, climbed out, and opened the door for Rose.

Then she held my arm as I climbed into the backseat. This daniel friedman options a laborious process. First I grasped the doorframe with my left hand as I clung to the walker with my right. Then I had to lift my quivering left leg an agonizing fourteen inches to step into the car. When I was finished, my forehead was damp and my breathing was ragged. I waved her off, so she closed the door behind me, folded up my walker, and put it in the trunk.

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Rose seemed like she was about to say something, but then her handbag started daniel friedman options. She found the cellular telephone and flipped it open. Rose shook her hand in my face to shut me up. Actually, I yelled it. She gave me a dirty look, but also the phone. Schatz, my name is Carlos Watkins. Carlos Watkins sounded like the talking heads on TV, but not the right-thinking, plainspoken ones I liked.

Come to think of it, he sounded a little like my grandson.

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I made a noise into the phone, a deep, phlegmy rattle that let Carlos Watkins know I was unimpressed by his diction. That caught him by surprise, I think. He stopped talking to process that. My mother is Dominican. Is that a problem for you? Is it a problem for you?

I rattled again.