no candles, no cards, no calls. I live above an old hardware store in a small room with a bed, a kettle, and a chair by the window. That window is my favorite. I watch buses go by. At the bakery, the girl didn’t recognize me, though I come every week. I told her it was my birthday. She smiled politely. I bought a small vanilla cake with strawberries and had them write “Happy 97th, Mr.…