I heard a knock at my condo door the other night and when I answered it was a woman I knew from when I first moved in twenty-eight years ago. She was leaning on a walker and waving a flyer for the candidate she was supporting in the coming election the following day.

"Hello, Betty," I said, taking the flyer. "How have you been?"

"Eh?"

"I said how have you been?"

"Oh, you know. I haven't seen you for a while."

"No that's true. Still canvassing I see?"

"Eh? Is this your unit?"

"Yes, I live here."

"I'm on the ground floor . . ."

|I know."

". . . when my husband died I took all the money and bought here."

"I recall the story."

"Hmm. Where's this person?" She showed me a sheet with all the building occupants listed that she used for making her calls.

"That's Nat, my wife. She passed a couple of years ago."

"I knew her."

"Yes, you did."

"You know I'm only ninety-three but my brain is a hundred and ten, I can't remember anything."

"You remembered me." I laughed.

"Yes. Do you play cards?"

"I haven't for some time."

"We play cards every week downstairs but we need men. We don't have any men. My son played but he didn't like it."

"Well, I'm not that-"

The walker trundled on down the hall with Betty waddling after it muttering, "We need men."

I grinned and shut the door, thinking to myself - nice to be wanted.