Age of heroism?

He looks at her. He is actually looking at her. Seeing her lips move. Everything happens too fast. She is currently with a credit card company or maybe it's a bank. So many numbers and speed that he can not follow. His little girl. he loves her. he thinks. He has no strength to shake his head. Breathing is also hard on him. How is it that the years succeed in betraying him. He's old, he asks, thinking to himself. How others treat it and it is a bubble. shadow. Ghost . He is still planning to tear the world apart. He has just renewed insurance for the motorcycle and all the great deals abroad he sees as a good deal.
She cuts a credit card. She looks at him, puts her hand on his shoulder and asks if he's sure. If he understands. He has no strength to answer. He has no idea what he should be safe about and what is here to understand. Apparently everything she does is for his own good. His son was also coming to lend a hand. And there's the third daughter who's always worried. How is it that life tilts the scales not in his favor. It has to stop. Autoto will turn the wheel. He's sure. That's how it has always been.
Someone brings him tea and tells him he might sit down. A nice young girl. They call it a word. Right. She is his wife's caregiver. She's got a pretty good ass, he thinks. He loves such a full ass. Even more.
"So I cancel that, too." He hears the words close to his ear. His hearing is also fading away. And his heart was getting tired more and more recently. Every doctor who examined him recently noticed that his heart was weak. Eighty-six winters do not walk. Every simple action requires special evaluations. Settle down, get out of bed, tie the laces, or wear socks. He had never considered the banal complexity of everyday activities. So many instructions for the brain and what precise performance. And now, everyone is betraying him. Limbs, internal organs, banks, credit card companies. Even the wrongs and the words coming out of his mouth. He hears again and awakens for a moment. He's so tired. All he wants is to sleep. These trivialities that they bother with. Let him be. He nods and mutters all right. He hears himself and the weakness frightens him. What do you mean weak heart is asking himself. What is this heart? What he is doing suddenly because of him I have no power and why the hell there is not a little ball to deal with it now and immediately. He must not think so many thoughts together, he knows. Only the thoughts accelerate his heart rate and his breathing becomes heavy and the fatigue takes over. I wish I'd die in sleep, he thinks to himself. Such a sweet death. Very quickly he distanced thoughts of death. no he. He is afraid to die. He has no desire to die. He still wants to travel and fly abroad and write his memoir, he has plans at least until the age of one hundred and twenty, the nice one comes in with his ass and asks if the tea is all right, he does not remember there's tea or if he drinks and if he drinks. He also wants to sleep, much to gather strength, not very clear to him for what, but what inner knowledge makes him close his eyes, he wants to stop thinking He has so much on his head that he just gives up Here is Chanukah now, and he invites him to make a miracle, and he does not need a miracle, and even a small one will suffice. Some phones, some papers, close with someone, sell, buy, give orders, open, close and float between worlds. It's pleasing to him, and they are constantly troubled. He sees from the corner of her eye that she cuts a credit card. In the past, he would not have agreed to that, at the moment he is willing to do everything and just leave him alone. He's so alone. Filled alone, he thinks to himself. He was alone, but lonely. How is it that all these years he has not been able to share with his relatives concerns, fears, difficulties in dealing with the technology that swallows parts of it every day. The grandchildren sit with him and show him "icons", wash him in terms and concepts and he can not keep pace. Here, with your finger, like this, see. now you. Here, good, great. So you understand? He says yes. He feels fed up. With each of them sitting at least three times and each time he asks for everything again. He even copied some computer number which is exactly his job - to mediate the technology for third-generation. Internet, Facebook, and Netscape.
Ask him why you need an iPhone six, what are you doing with him and he feels humiliated. They no longer believe that he will close the gap. In fact, he's terrified of these devices. But he will not admit it to himself. That it was really impossible to close this gap. Who must be attached to the good seller and enjoy it. Once they used to say to make lemonade. I wonder if the younger generation knows this government. He has no strength for lemonade. He wants to swipe a thumb at her mother, to say that he is a creator and start from scratch. Like saying you break the dishes and not play. He wants to be a part. He wants to belong, and in every direction he turns away, he has no place. It is transparent. It is irrelevant.
So we closed it down, the words pounded on his ears, trying to get in. She marks him on the page, hands him a pen and he signs.