Mouse or spouse, a voice tells Reggie. Mouse or spouse. The voice sounds like that of his fifth-grade teacher, a woman with black hair, a limp, and psoriasis, with whom he was infatuated. She often made up rhymes to help her students remember facts. She smelled like coal tar—like a fresh street. What a woman! Reggie heaves himself out of his armchair, pushes his feet into his flip-flops, and walks to the balcony. So far, his seventies have felt like the last mile of a marathon—which he used to run, back when his body was his. Everything aches and dehydration reigns. His vision is scattered,
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