That's what Len says every time Seymour says he can't remember.
Not stuff like the thousand of jokes or remnants of Marx Brothers songs or ditties from the lower east side my father can rattle off for hours on end.
No. Just the next five minutes. If he and Len are going to the bank or the supermarket. If it was lunch or time to sit the couch.
"I don't remember."
"Don't worry about it. I'm your memory."
Len is. He remembers the schedule of each hour and every day. He know every doctor and every check up. He knows what meals are incoming and what medicines are running out.
But I wonder who holds the other memories. Not the joke or that the supermarket is next. But the other ones....
...like the smell of the cake his mother used to bake in coffee cans when they lived at Knickerbocker Village.
**
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