the things I know now I see it in him: the I-must-hide-the-fat-look as he stares at himself reflected in glass, his oncoming paunch and the question he can't ask - how much time is there left? + my skillet's a wonder sleek pan, a flat steel with silvery shine polished in water under my hands, wire brush scarring its metal in fine well-scored lines those built up black corners, that will not come clean, are the only sure sign of the use I have made + the cans are growing in our garage - mostly coke, ginger ale - in large plastic bags, black with cinched yellow ties. I forget how much each one may be worth. a nickel? a dime? not much more than that, but with so many I'm sure it adds up to enough money for some future treat - for myself? yes, but I'm not inclined to liquidate yet. until then it's just another savings account + it seems you can do nicely with much less than you have. for example take kidneys - take all but a third and that's enough for the fluids your body might need, or might crave but at some tipping point there's no hope anymore. this condition is called chronic renal failure and they tell me no one does transplants at this hospital.