by David Holloway
Debbie stepped into the elevator and saw the new resident, Max, leaning down and whispering in my ear. She grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed until he stumbled out into the hallway.
“Sharon doesn’t want you hanging around her!” she shouted in her warbling girlish voice.
“What in the hell are you doing?” I said as the doors crept closed. The elevators moved as slowly as the residents in Denver Golden Acres.
Nobody here is in a hurry for anything, so that’s just fine.
“I think they call it taking out the trash.” Debbie said. “Max gives me the creeps.”
Some people make fun of Debbie’s voice. They say she sounds like that television chef— Julia Child? I always liked her voice. It was the biggest part of her and sounded young and strong.
“Do I look like I need you to run my life!” […]