“Oh, no,” I say. “Oh, no?” “This may have been a mistake.” “You said you loved Loudons.” “It’s not that. It’s just, you and I”—I gesture between us—“do we even have anything to talk about? I mean, you’re kinda advanced in age.” His forehead furrows, a deeply etched scowl. “I was promised food, not beration.” “Oh, I can deliver both.” I grin. Tilt my head. “It’s okay. We’ll find something. You can tell me how life was before electricity.” He gives me a stern, prolonged stare. “Just kidding. Age is nothing but a number, and all that.” He winces. “Don’t say that.” “Why?” “Because it’s what some
  
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