He’s thinking about the day. He needs to dress, which means walking to the bedroom, fifty-eight steps. He’ll walk around downtown. It’s eight hundred steps from the plaza to the library.

Do you want to see a movie? she asks.

I don’t know, he answers. What’s playing?

She reads him a list with the playing times.

I don’t know, he says. Let me think about it.

Instead, he thinks walking to the movies, thirty-two hundred steps. He thinks about getting a drink of water in the kitchen, twenty-one steps.

Something is wrong, he thinks, getting up. Something has gone awry. Counting steps, he goes into the other room. He was supposed to do something there, but it fades away under the count. He walks around the room for a quarter mile, four hundred and fifty steps, and then returns to the other room.


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