Walking to the car from the commissary, I see Pop is walking wobbly, and I ask if he is feeling alright. He says no, and I remember that he had said earlier that he feels like he is getting sick, like a flu. But he doesn't seem to have any flu-like symptoms. As usual, I worry about his falling down another notch in decrepitude. When we come home, he goes to bed for the next five or six hours, and he says he feels a bit better.