Jeez, dirty underwear. Again. At least that’ll be all over soon. I’m determined. And I’ll go out fresh as a daisy. Shower first and then “clean linen”, as they once said but no more – it is not a well-read world, and never will be again. I have no idea what it will be and I do wish it luck. The youngsters seem okay and some of them will read their Socrates. Better turn the shower off. Damn! It’s running cold, but it can’t rip away my smile. How many years now without feeling in these curled up toes? Your extremities go first, in my case. More fool me, I used to find it unnerving and interesting at the same time. Now it’s just something to stop in its tedious tracks while I can still move about. There, I’ve had breakfast, haven’t I? That seemed quick. And I’m dressed in my going about gear. What I like about myself: I seem to be harmless and neatly turned out. Ready for one last episode, but there are no ladies of a certain age expectant and willing on these streets. They are all at their bridge games or curled upon themselves, hoping to drown in a cup of tea. That’s what redeems them. Oh, what fine times there would be if one should come this way now – bouncing curls of silver hair, classic dress, and an outlaw gleam. All the passersby are writing me off. My disintegration is going as well as might be expected. Ah! An admiring glance. It’s really the best time to go – on whatever high note remains. No jumping off tall buildings for me. No head in the stove or bleeding rose wrists. No appalling sirens to the ICU. I shall close my eyes and collapse in your midst. That’s the best I can do.