He carries a sunflower like it is a precious piece of china. The stem wrapped in a paper towel. A bit of foil to keep it moist.

The nurse looks at him. Smiles. He asks. She says, Room 404.

404. Irony. His dorm room, radio call sign. Four April 74, the day they met. And now this.

He knows it is 404. He always asks. Habit.

He walks slowly. Older people do.

All places like this are the same—the smells of well-seasoned citizens and their incontinence covered by perfumy disinfectants.

People in wheelchairs sitting in hallways looking sad and forlorn. Some muttering. Others vacant stares. Still, others smile as they shuffle down the hall to get outside one more time.

Two women are playing chess and always smiling and kidding one another.

Today, one fellow in his room is singing along to Otis Redding while sitting on the dock of his bay.

And here comes Moses, the fellow always dressed as if going to church. Shaves every day.  Wears Old Spice. Shoes shined. He stops. Looks you in the eye. Smiles. Extends his hand, grabs your forearm, and gives a firm Ronald Reagan handshake. He blesses you—and moves along.

Other residents dressed in clothes they would never wear – except here.

Here comes the cowboy pushing his chair to the convenience store. Get his six-pack. Sneak to the overlook. Praying for one more day of freedom.

The older Southern lady. Puts on a bright shade of lipstick. Fluffs her hair. Marries her walker. Meanders over to the park pavilion to smoke and gossip. What she smokes, no one asks.

The walls are ugly shades of green, tiled floor with the smell of bleach, and attendants shuffling.

Room 404. The solid wood oak door ajar. He knocks. No answer. It eases open.

The blinds dim the room. A reading light shines above her. Her stuffed dog is lying to her side. Her hand is lovingly placed on top. Eyes closed.

As he approaches, she opens her eyes. Maybe smiles. Eyes vacant. As if searching for something to remember. He smiles. Walks over and pulls up a chair.

Pats her hand. He hands her the sunflower. She accepts. Now, a wide smile. And a sigh.

The 364^th flower. She lays it on her chest. Closes her eyes. And he sits.

Maybe tomorrow.