Lucky


I was talking to this lady the other day. She had a walker, and explained how she had fallen and broken her hip. She told me of all of her troubles, and all of her ails. Told me how her “old man” had left her because she couldn’t fulfill his sexual needs with a broken hip, and how she had come to the conclusion that all men were pigs.

On most of her points I said I agreed, and shook my head and nodded. Mostly out of respect, or maybe boredom.

“You know,” she said “I’m lucky to be alive.”

I said, “We all are.”

It wasn’t until after I said it that I actually realized what I had said.

“Do you think so,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said.

And now I realize that I really meant it.
“We all are.”

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