Strange Weather

by Joe Hill

It was all getting away from Lawrence Beukes. His ability to manage, to keep up with even the mild demands of suburban living, was being overwhelmed, a little at a time, as he wore down under the strain of looking after a woman who could no longer look after herself.

He was crying again. I wanted to hide. Instead I nodded. “Sure, Mr. Beukes. Sure.” “Invent a way not to ged old,” he said. “It is a terrible goddem trick to play on someone. Gedding old is no way to stop being young.”