I actually came up with a reason to go to the shopping mall the other day. Didn’t quite believe it was me talking, and my wife did look at me like I was possessed, but that is the sad state of affairs when you have been ordered not to do anything strenuous, but walking around the shops is allowed.
It was like a scene from prison break, or when road runner leaves a room. Except it was the geriatric version of it, carried out at the same pace as being run over by a steam roller.
I drove. I walked. I brought two 8b pencils, graphite sticks and a sketch book.
I walked. I drove. I sat back on the couch that now has an imprint of my butt so well indented you could use it as a means of identification.
If I play my cards right I might even be able to do it again tomorrow.
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