“Old age is awful,” said my landlord. “I wonder how many people would sit down to the meal if they knew what the dessert was! Thank God we don’t have to deal with that quite yet. In fact I’m invited to a party tomorrow night, some friends of mine, you’re more than welcome to come. It’ll be mostly lawyers and their very attractive boyfriends—in a really spectacular apartment. Another meaningless social encounter—that Washington specialty. No? Then may I ask you a favor—I won’t be home till late tomorrow evening, and if it’s not inconvenient, could I ask you to walk Biscuit? If you can’t I can get someone else, so don’t worry about it.”
“I’d love to walk Biscuit,” I said.
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