Scylla and Charybdis
What we lose when we lose our minds.
An old man used to live in the rundown house across the street. He was a heavy smoker who didn’t let the oxygen canister he hauled around slow him down. He had a mustache with greasy brown hair to his shoulders, was thin as a rail and walked with a hunch. I heard him before I saw him. The emphysemic wheezing …
