My granddaughter tells me without words that I have grown bitter in my old age. I can see it in the roll of her eyes and the giggles she believes I am unable to hear. But I do hear. I hold my tongue, as I cannot expect her to understand my nostalgia. She was not there. When the Rue’s of the 5th stirred together like a hot stew of brilliance and rhetoric. When we pushed our bodies onto one another not out of lust, but purely for warmth. The winters were brutal then, without the luxuries we have today. But the company was sweet enough to bear it. And I preferred it. I try to enjoy my last days in this world. But the only enjoyment I find is when I sit and remember these years. This is where I prefer to sit and wait for god’s hand to take me to another world. Perhaps he will take me to another 1929?