Podiatrist office. Tiny, ancient couple. She’s bent over a clip board, writing, as he sits at her elbow.

Her: “Are you still 88?”

Him: “What?”

Her: “ARE YOU STILL 88?”

Him: “I already ate.”

Her: (pause) “Yep, still 88… and still deaf.”

Him: “Why does a foot doctor want to know if I ate lunch?”

Her: “Oh, go back to sleep.”