This morning I stopped by the old age home in town and asked if I could meet someone who has no family around and never gets visitors.
They introduced me to Lester. He told me about Kingston across the river, where he spent his whole life. He remembered the milkman delivering glass bottles, the soda shops, the piano factory, and the brickyards. The way he described it, he seemed to think Kingston still has all that.
"Have you ever been to Maine?" I asked. "No," he said. "Someone gave me the hat."
Before I could finish the portrait, a nurse took him away for his medication. He had sensors on both of his shoes to keep him from wandering off in search of Kingston. "He used to have a sensor on just one shoe," an orderly told me. "But then he'd kick off that shoe and escape with one bare foot."