Oldest Living Confederate Widow Tells All - Plot & Excerpts
—PSALM 55:14 MALES are frailer and shorter-lived, overly talented at the pride that depresses. So there ain’t many non-bedridden men here at Lanes’. Them that’s here get noticed. Some things never change. Where’s the justice? We have twenty-nine women and twelve men left, last count. Counting is something you got to do most every breakfast. “Well, friends, what’s the latest bloodshed box score? Did poor Nineteen make it through the night?” We use this shorthand—useful, considering the room turnover owing to excess death. Every person first gets known by the number over their door. If they last three months, you go ahead and memorize their name. “You mean the new Nineteen? That last one—gloomy Gus—he hardly got unpacked.” “But I thought our only recent new one was Thirty-nine.” “Thirty-nine? Fool, you’re slipping. I am Thirty-nine. Six straight years I’ve been Thirty-nine.” “You and Jack Benny. Jell-O Again.” My own favorite male stays Twenty-one, Professor Taw.
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