No Country for . . .

I swear, the more we get together, the more Tony and I start to sound like a couple of old men just shooting the shit. We reminisce about our school days as if we’d boarded together at Eton. We talk about our campaign work with the NDP like two veterans of the Winnipeg General Strike. And we complain about our random maladies as if our bodies might soon return to the soil.
     The problem, I think, is that neither of us got to watch our fathers grow old, and so we haven’t a clue how work through our middle age.