I met a deaf person today, although I only saw that they were unable to speak, so they may have been just mute. It was in the hospital, a starkly ugly woman in the bed next to mine, just overlapping with my visit by twenty minutes or so. I had seen her before, but never been close to her, and I still had never spoken to or interacted with her. I am unsqeamish, and I frequently say yes to all things and I am not uncomfortable to be around the other older people in the ward. But my heart sunk when I had to lie next to this woman. She was androgenous in her old age, with a grey hair almost spiked, and a slow and cautious body. It was her face that was difficult to look at, and this does not happen frequently to me, but it has sometimes happened to me in the hospital.
Remembering Fabio of a ski shop in the Western Alps near Turin, in the small town of Sestriere. He was a constant there, he had fitted my boots whenever I joined the guys for a trip up to the mountains. Fabio was not actually his name, that was actually the name of the man who owned the shop. My friend Albert Goothe and his older brother knew the real Fabio. I hadn’t met him, but knew he must have existed, and that our version of Fabio was only his stand-in. He ran the shop.