Six Pairs of Thick Gray Socks Saved My White House on Elm Street

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“I need a favor, Albert,” I said, sitting in the vinyl chair across from him. “A formal medical mobility evaluation. On paper. Signed and dated today.”

He watched me for a moment, his eyes gentle but serious. “The state assessment is on the fourteenth, isn’t it? Brenda’s doing?”

“She thinks I will fail,” I said, tapping my fingernails continue reading …