I open my closet and take inventory of what is there: All the bones except the left arm where the skin hangs like a dead water balloon. The left eye has been used, but the right's still there. The hair I've been taking bit by bit, but should hold me in a full head of hair for quite a few decades more. And the genitals will be used at the same time of the prostate replacement.

I'm actually in better shape than most. And I'm 108 years old.

Then, because the mood hits at odd moments, I open her closet.