What did you say?

Nothing. Nothing important. Mumbling, really. Talking to myself, he said to her.

About?

Just things. Things that don’t matter anymore.

Like?

It’s a type of malaise. A depression perhaps, he confessed. Little things are slipping by me, he lit a cigarette. Raking the yard. Cleaning gutters. House could use a new coat of paint. Everything is all at once. I just don’t care anymore.

Right, she told him. I feel that way at times. There is always something to do, and I just don’t want to do it, she laughed.

Have we become lazy?

No. Just old.