I haven’t revised my phone book in two years and now what’s the point when half of them have left, moved back to America for snow days and Costco, although I think my mother’s friend Ceilia might be dead, I used to invite her over, but those days are gone, and the plumber who wasn’t good enough for the new house, or the dog groomer that I don’t go to since Lucy died, hooked up to morphine, I made all the kids leave so I could hold her head in my lap, smoothing the fur and waiting for Molly, the only vet who would agree to put a dog down, Einat didn’t have the heart for it and kept saying, Let’s try something else, and Pizza Sababa that we no longer order from, American Pie is closer, just opposite the Frankfurter Center where the old people knit ugly handicrafts to sell in their store, although yesterday they were all being loaded on a bus, two aids shoving a crooked green bundle who didn’t want to let go of her walker, the others waiting by the falafel stand with the same stunned look, it didn’t seem very fun, like when we try to strap my mother into her wheelchair, and she hits our arms, Get away from me you assholes, then refuses to use the pedals for her feet and lets them drag, victorious, on the ground.