I look at my ankles at night. They look like someone stuffed two water balloons under the skin. It’s the heat. It’s ninety degrees and the humidity is thick. Everyone wants to talk about my heart. My wife stands by the window with her hands on her hips. She thinks she’s being subtle. She isn’t. She wants me to see the specialist. I told her no. I’m seventy-two years old... I’ve never spent a night in a hospital that wasn’t for someone else. I’m not starting now. I pulled the starter cord on the John Deere four times today before it caught. Each pull felt like a punch to the ribs. My chest gets tight. It’s just the air.