I was talking to our father and lamenting about how my arms were getting crinkly and dry just like his.
“I’m even getting those little scabs for no reason just like you,” I told him.
“Speaking of scabs,” he answered, “did you see that big, ugly scab on your brother the last time he was here?”
“No, pop,” I told him. “I didn’t.”
“My mistake,” he corrected himself. “I was thinking about his face.”
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