Mrs. Patterson wasn't at the poker table today at the Birch Street Nursing Home. For the third week in a row, she had barricaded herself in her room, and she spent most of the morning shouting about how Mrs. Shimshack had been calling her name in the middle of the night. Mrs. Lieberman brought out the old radio and turned up the volume to drown out the noise. But this also meant I had to once again ask Mr. Matthews to join the poker game. This time he said he couldn't go downstairs without first bathing, and he handed me a small sponge.
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