Color me sad

Thursday night, as I walked home from the train station in the twilight, I thought I saw the flashing lights of an ambulance in front of my building. As I came closer, I wondered if maybe it wasn't just a repair truck of some sort. By the time I got home, it was just a big dark shape -- no flashing lights -- pulling away and turning the corner. I didn't think of it again.

Until Friday morning, when I found Pervy Walt's newspaper in the vestibule beside mine. He usually picks his up at dawn. It was still there Friday night when I got home. I put it outside his front door. I did the same with Saturday's paper. And Sunday's.

Clearly it was an ambulance, taking Walt away ... again. On New Year's Day, the police knocked down his door to find him in the bathtub, unable to move. He was hospitalized for days. Then on March 3, he fell down and alerted the police through Life Alert. They cut the lock off his door to get to him, and he was hospitalized again for days. On Thursday, he must have been able to let the paramedics in himself because his door wasn't damaged this time. Also, there were no emergency lights or sirens on the ambulance as it took him away.

The man was born in 1927, so if he isn't 90 yet, he will be soon. He has serious health problems, and it seems is being taken to the hospital on a monthly basis.

I hate that he thinks of me the way he does. It's creepy and it makes it hard for me to relax in my own home.

But I get no pleasure out of being in the cheap seats to watch his slow demise.