By Lizzie Johnson, San Francisco Chronicle, May 15, 2020
He shuffled out of the house on Innes Avenue, shoulders hunched and legs trembling.
The early spring day was clear and breezy. Sunshine baked the driveway. But Wilbur Morris didn’t notice. He settled into the front seat of his daughter’s gray Mercury Mirage, too weak to buckle the seat belt or shut the door, so she did it for him.
Wilbur had been a healthy 80-year-old. His preferred drink was nonalcoholic beer. He jogged 3 miles every weekday, looping through his neighborhood of the Bayview to Heron’s Head Park — until his body revolted. In recent days, he had grown too weak to run. He couldn’t taste his wife’s cooking. Each breath sawtoothed through his chest.
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