Trapped in his apartment, he felt life slipping away. Isolated. No income. Cellphone cutoff. No television. He couldn’t even pawn things, because the shops were closed. 

Bess became his caregiver. It was an unlikely pairing. She was 83. Spindly but strong. He was 24 and frail. Daily, she buttered his bread and scrambled his eggs. He liked a little bit of milk in them. She’d cut slices of oranges and lay them on the plate in a neat line. Sometimes a strawberry or two. She’d leave the food by his door and gently knock. 

Some days she’d leave a note. 

“You are loved.-Bess”

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