“I used to be a lifeguard,” said the old man. “I’d sit in a chair and watch, and jump in to pull people out.”
He pointed to the shelf, where a photo of the Rock River sat in a silver frame.
“I saved seventy-seven people. I cut a notch into a log to keep count.”
The old man reached for the photo, but he couldn’t get up from his wheelchair.
He slowly sank back down into the chair, holding the armrests.
“That was the best time of my life.”
He smiled, and slowly dozed off, the dust his only audience.