My own parents had downsized and gone into a condominium in their late fifties; It was where I had learned to ride a bicycle, navigated adolescent heartbreak and plotted how quickly I could escape suburbia. It was a standard Cape Cod issue that, even after a decade there, Dad would drive by, mistaking another house ahead for ours, that’s how generic it was. Exactly no heartstrings were tugged when I said buh-bye. I suspected, however, that Albin’s version of closure might make him emotional, and I thought I should find some tissue and discreetly tuck it into my sweatpants pocket.
Albin stood, too. “May I ask questions as we walk around?”
I told him I would happily answer anything, with undoubtedly more detail than he desired, but only if he would grant me the same courtesy. He nodded, an
