By William Vitka
Cover design by David Graham
Copyright © 2013 William Vitka
Maura Sullivan decided that she'd rather hear dead men.
The music annoyed her. The radio (a Sirius satellite device given to her by children who should have known better) was tuned to an "oldies" station that seemed to think anything before 1975 qualified. The actual quality of the songs was somewhat dubious in her opinion. Having been born in 1934, this depressed Maura in a far-off way that she recognized but tried to ignore.
The tragedy of it all was that the noise this "oldies" station blared was nothing like the sweet melodies her late husband James used to queue up on their record player.
Nowadays, there were no new songs from Glenn Miller, Guy Lombardo, Perry Como, Bing Crosby or Frank Sinatra. None whatsoever. Those fellas, the good ones, the real crooners, were quite dead.
As such, they made no noise Maura hadn't heard before.
She contented herself in the corner of the living room she and James had once shared. Sitting, sometimes knitting, but more often reading. The "antique" (oldies of a different sort) lights she had on gave the room the look of an old library.