“They’re old, not dead,” Pawpaw said when I asked how the residents at Brick Haven Assisted Living could be in a band. They were holding a small concert in the gazebo on the front lawn. Everyone was invited; visitors, patients, even the wanderers and the newly admitted who’d convinced themselves that they were only visiting friends. The nurses would have their hands full.
As the wrinkly, gray-haired musicians played a surprisingly jumpy, Southern tune, I stood and asked Pawpaw for a dance. He didn’t remember that it was his birthday, but I would still make the night special for him.
word count: 100
This is in response to Friday Fictioneers: write a story in 100 words or less using the provided photo as inspiration.
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