The card was an old one, already beyond the printed expiration date.

I hadn’t thought about that until she pointed it out.

For a moment, I felt foolish in a new way.

I had maintained an argument with an object that might no longer work.

“The account might still exist,” she said.

“The bank can check.”

We walked to the stop outside the pharmacy.

The route sign rattled when traffic passed, and a man carrying a white prescription bag crossed in front of us.