I hadn’t visited the zoo in decades, but my child’s heart still drew me to them first: monkeys. The liveliest enclosure housed the capuchins, and I watched their troupe leap and swing and roughhouse for several hours. During a lull, when no school tours swarmed the glass, one of the patriarchs stood, captured my stare, pantomimed slicing his throat, then fell back into play with his mates. I’ve since joined an elder fitness group, just to prove the hairy devil wrong.



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