When I lived on High Street we could see the firestation from the back door. The firemen, being on 24 hour shifts, could get out and stretch their, err, fire legs. They could never go very far away, lest a fire should break out, so they walked around the block over and over and over again. Just circling the same block for at least as long as it took Julia and I to watch back-to-back episodes of The Wonder Years.
Now I live on Seneca Street near the Old Folks Home and the seniors take walks as regularly as did the firemen. They circle the block slowly, round and round, but they never stray too far from the home. I can see them from my window at work. Today at my desk I timed Estherzilla, so named for her mauve nylon track suit and crazy, wind-whipped hair. She passed 12 times and it took her 49 minutes. Why doesn't she mix it up? Is she afraid that the "Help I've fallen and I can't get up!" button will fail her if she leaves the one block zone? Why exercise to stay alive if it is to maintain the most mundane of all possible existences?
I suppose I will be resigned to my fate when I live in a nursing home, too, but it just pains me how they walk in that tight circle. The carrot on the stick being the white light. Waiting for Godot and all that shit. I think on my lunch break one of these days I'm going to kidnap Estherzilla and take her to Chop Suey for a whiskey. I expect no less from my last years.
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