The bow tie is new. Straw hat, too.

His face: not new. The shop where he bought it is gone, a swanky bistro there now.

He orders a salad.

Dentures bite, grind, clack; it’s not worth $24.

Eyes—original to the face—mist.

He apologizes and tips the server well.

Karen writes short in a low Canadian basement. Her work is in or forthcoming in FlashBack Fiction, Emerge Literary Journal, Reflex Fiction, Bullshit Lit, Blank Spaces, Ghost City Press, Alien Buddha Press, and others. She/her. Follow her at @MeKawalker883