“Second time you cheated death.”
“I’m invincible. Stan Lee should have put me in his comic books. Captain Geriatric.”
I remove books from his right side. His horn-rimmed glasses are askew. I straighten them. I don’t know how they aren’t mutilated.
“I’ve been meaning to take care of that shelf for weeks now. Shame on me. Shame. Shame. Shame. Glad you came around and found me.”
“How do you feel? Any cuts or damage?”
He snickers at me. “It’s not WWII in here. The Nazis are still in the pages and haven’t come to life. I’m fine.”
The last of the books are in piles next to his feet.
“Can you stand?”
“I’m pretty sure I can.”
“Good to know.”
“We should have tea. Don’t you think? I need a tea. I’m sure you need one too,” he tells me as I help his skinny frame up and off the floor. “Someth
