eighty-seven

How in the eighty-seven moons had he survived?

“But I’m optimistic, so I’d rate your chances around...eighty-seven percent.”

“Thirty-eight thousand, three hundred and eighty-seven,” he said like he was committing the number to memory.

But when old Master Nkrumah, age eighty-seven, had begun referring to the Greater Jungle as “her,” that had been the last straw.

Two hundred eighty-seven homeless people took their last breath on the sidewalk, 24 died in alleys and 72 were found on the pavement, according to data from the county coroner.