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Nam Dlo the old man
Nam Dlo, eighty six, walked down the twenty three stairs to the main floor of The Sweet Times old age home when he spotted a fellow retiree Earl mouth open, staring and his index finger touching his cheek. Nam had little hair and a yellow and white vertically striped shirt with a pair of suspenders that pulled up his greenish to brown pants.
“What’s the matter Earl?” Nam stated calmly.
“Who are you? Who’s Earl?”
Earl had been in the old age home for ten years since he was eighty and his family could no longer take his extreme alzheimer's. They only visited once a year since they lived in Canada, a few hundred miles from New York.
Martha had been Earl’s aid for all the ten years. Earl kept a picture of her in his pocket so he can remember her when he gets lost.
“Who’s Martha?” questioned Earl.
“Let’s take a look inside your pocket,” replied Nam reaching for Earl’s pocket.
“Get your hands off me. Help! Help!” bellowed Earl swatting Nam’s hand.
“Okay, Okay then I can’t show you a m-a-a-a-g-gic trick.”.
“A magic trick?” inquired Earl.
“Fine. Show me, but if I catch doing any funny business I’m taking you down,” on he said, wearily shaking his fist.
Nam reached for Earl’s pocket and pulled Martha’s picture out.
“Whoa! Great trick.”
“Earl, do you recognize this person?”
“Yeah she looks familiar, do you know who this is?”
“Yes, I’ll take you to her, okay?” recited Nam calmly.
Earl eagerly followed Nam who led him to Martha and was happy to see her. As Nam left their sight, he could finally look at his arm. It had scratches from Earl swatting his hand and he could not afford to let Martha see. If she did, she would have to report Earl which could lead him to be sent to the isolation room. On the outside, Sweet Times looked like a great place to live, metal gates that lead to a big driveway with a big fountain. It was a white building that had yellow moldings. However, the practices used were brutal sometimes reducing dinner rations which could be dangerous for someone with low blood sugar. On the other hand, Nam could not afford to be bleeding; he suffered from hemophilia which meant a paper cut could kill him.
He turned the corner he spotted son and his family including his three year old grandson. Suddenly his cheeks scrunched and his eyebrows went up. Nothing filled him with joy more than the sight of his grandson.
“Hey, Sam! How are you doing,” Nam shouted from the end of the hall way addressing his son.
“Hey, Dad! Janice can you take the kids out for a second” he said addressing his wife.
Nam knew what was happening. He realized his son was going to ask him for some more money. Sam had lost money gambling on horses he had lost one hundred thousand dollars and his dad had given him fifty thousand so far.
“Ummmm…. Dad—?!” he was interrupted when his dad pulled him in to hug him.
As Nam pulled his son in, Sam felt a strange pain in his throat. Sam could no longer ask his dad for money. He was too embarrassed. Then Nam took out his checkbook and wrote up a check for five thousand dollars and slid it into Sam’s back pant pocket and smiled at his son.
“Okay, son see you around, it’s time for bingo night.”