Getting Old

Hair gets longer; unkempt. Beard grows in gray. Dark circles under eyes from nights without sleep. Bones begin to rattle.

Body hurts. Walking down streets in the city have become a task. New York is a young man’s game. The climbing of subway stairs. A stroll on Lexington Avenue becomes a hike. Millions of people to sift through. Punching and pulling. Jousting for position. No one has ever waited for the light to turn green. A constant stampede.

And bars are filled with youth and tourists. Moneymakers paying with credit cards. Craft beers in front of them. I drink my shot and Carlsberg. Left Malort and Old Style far behind.

Bronx girls wait on corners. Pimps sit in cars. Arabs in stores buying food stamps, selling loosies for a quarter, homeless guys waiting by the ATM. Is it the first of the month yet?

Too old for all of this. Time to settle down. Take a bus from New York heading anywhere; South, Midwest, a small town; slower speeds. It is time. It is time.

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