The old man spoke, almost whispering, to the young woman working at the liquor store: “Can you direct me to where I might find a bottle of Grand Marnier? I haven’t had any for many years, and I’m due a sip.”
That’s not what the old man actually
wanted to say. He wanted to share that his little dog of nearly twenty had
slowly faded and perished. He wanted to tell the young woman that the scent of
roses made him nauseous, that too often he found himself standing somewhere in
his house, unable to recall why he was there. He wanted to insist that he no
longer prayed for rain. But he had long since learned that some truths were
best left unspoken, left to wander in the quiet corridors of his mind.
—Mitchell Hegman
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