Is slowing down. It becomes harder to match up with what is in front of me. The chameleon can hardly use its colors. I hold my head up triumphantly.

As a testament to age, I want to run away and duck behind a wall. This game becomes my cage; taking a leisurely stroll through the mall used to be a cacophony of greetings.

The feeling is fleeting, the arch of a brow has lost its meaning, I don’t belong here at all. My brain swells with pain for the information...