“It doesn’t. Not at all.”

“All the paintings I’ve worked on look different to me now. What I feel when I look at them, if I look at them, has transformed from when I started. I haven’t thought about this in a long time. I haven’t even painted anything in…” I trail off.

“How long?”

“I’m not sure. I can’t remember the last time I started something new. It became too hard to start. I doubt I’ll ever paint again,” I say.

“Would you be okay with that?”

I consider the prospect of never painting again. This would have been unheard of for most of my life. It would have felt unjust, a personal tragedy. I wouldn’t have accepted it.

“I don’t know. Maybe not. I’m feeling different since I’ve arrived here.”

He smiles at this. “I still have lots of work to do.”

“You do,” I say, hoping not to sound too surprised.

“Yes, work just feels so ingrained now. Even more since I’ve been here. It’s who I am, and she wants us—likes us to stay productive.”

I hadn’t realized but I must have been eating as we chatted. My plate is empty. The only thing left are two orange rinds.

“If it’s not an imposition, I’d like to watch you sometime,” he says. “Watch you paint.”

I cough when he says this and look away. Jack walks in to clear my plate.

“More tea?”

“No, thank you,” I say.

He sets my cutlery on the plate and carries it back to the kitchen. And again Hilbert and I are left in the quiet.

“I was scared of becoming an old person. Terrified. I guess I still am. I was so scared of losing parts of myself and running out of time,” I say. “Of forgetting.”

Pete hasn’t said anything. I forgot he was sitting here with us, but I notice him looking toward the kitchen now, as if he’s expecting another plate of food.

“Does getting closer to the end scare you?” I ask Hilbert.

“Why is anything scary?” says Hilbert. “It can only be scary if it’s inescapable.”

“Like us getting to the end,” I say.

“Are we?” he says. “Pete’s still here. We’re all still here. Shelley keeps telling us day after day that the secret to longevity is for us to stay positive and productive. Positive and productive. Positive and productive.”

“How long have you been here?” I ask.

But Hilbert is looking at Pete, who is still staring at the kitchen.

“Pete, do you want something from the kitchen?” Hilbert asks him.

“Do you want me to call Jack?” I ask.

Pete looks at me with his heavy eyes. But he doesn’t reply.

I wonder where he came from. I wonder what he’s thinking about.

“A man of few words,” says Hilbert. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Back at my apartment,” I say, “I would go for weeks without talking to anyone. Even when I’d walk out to the park to sit on a bench. Lots of people would go by. Or be in line at the store.”