He ate because the clock said noon, and the body obeyed clocks when it had forgotten desire. Fork up, fork down. The room moved around him, a low tide of voices, chairs, coughs, while he stayed anchored in his chair by the window, the one place where time sometimes paused out of courtesy.
Winter outside. Bare branches sketching shadows on the ground. The sun, thin, exhausted. A fair match, he thought. The season and the man had finally agreed on something.
Come along, dear.
The voice arrived before the face. He said of her name badge. No e. No a. Names are shedding letters now, slimming down as everything does toward the end.
She helped him up. He leaned into her arm, borrowing on her steadiness, felt the small surrender of weight and dignity, and accepted it without protest.
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