Dr. Theodore Woods died on Friday morning. He weighed just 115 pounds.
His very last thought was about his elementary school back in Irving. He saw his buddy Fred throw the ball and watched the Dimbley sisters eat ice cream from the same bowl. The air was fresh and the sky was unblemished blue. It was spring.
He was now standing in the corner of the room watching these three men remove his body on a stretcher. They wore black and one of them smoked. He smoked in his house!
Strange, I don’t seem to remember this fellow on the stretcher. He surely looks awful. He must have had a painful death.
Then Joyce walked in with a bucket.
What does she want with the bucket?
Joyce unmade the bed, threw the sheets and covers on the floor, pulled the mattress off, and methodically cleaned the bed irons with a sponge she regularly dunk in the bucket.
That’s good habits, good habits….
Joyce finished, wiped her hands with her apron, looked at the pile of sheets and covers on the floor … and spat on them.
Joyce?