One of my good friends is about twenty years older than me, give or take. Another is about twenty years younger. Though we each are very much stuck inside the stereotypes of our own ages, it’s more significant to our characters that we’re from three different continents--- if you count Brooklyn as a continent.
Age is a context. We’re the product of our times, our fashions, our music, our stories. Nowadays there is a personality attached to the number. I can’t run into Hot Topic and pick up something to wear, even if I was so inclined. Luckily I’m not.
So today I’m a year older. Big deal. My bones were creaky, and my glasses progressive anyhow.
Thank you all for your kind wishes, tomorrow we’ll resume our normal one-sided conversation.
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1 comment:
Another continent from another life. But, Yay Brooklyn! anyway.
L.A. Weakly
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