Fred smiles, blows on Marie’s feather fascinator and touches her arm. “Come on,” says Fred, “Let’s go out and have fun.” He puts on his Army cap while Marie carries her coat. They leave the apartment.
Outside the Parrish home, a small dog crosses the street while Mr. Parrish mows the lawn with a manual lawnmower.
Wilma walks out the front door of her house and crosses the hedge to the Parrish driveway.
“Hello, Wilma!” says Mr. Parrish, stopping his lawnmowing.
“Good afternoon, Mister Parrish,” replies Wilma. “Have you seen Homer?”
“He’s out in the woodshed,” answers Mr. Parrish. There’s a gunshot, then another.
“Says he wants to get in some practice shooting,” continues Mr. Parrish. “so he can go hunting. You’d have thought he would have seen enough shooting in the war.” Mr. Parrish mops his face with a handkerchief.
“Well, I guess he just wants to find something to occupy himself,” says Wilma.
“I guess so,” says Mr. Parrish. “I wish there was something I knew to do for him. His mother and I have tried to make him feel at home, but –“