so i was sitting outside of a used book store. i was using one of those benches that a cute town put in so the tax payers can say they got something for their money. i suppose everyone found it strange that i was just sitting there watching them. what else are benches for?

so i as i was sitting there i watched three type of people. old people. old people who tried to be young. and old people who were okay with being old. all of them were kinda sad. old woman was sad and bitter it seemed. she started bossing her son around. the old in denial seemed like she was in this intense war with age. her only weapons were botox, hair color, her teenager's make up, and sensible shoes. old okay woman seemed to have lost the same battle. and was okay with it. i guess out of all of those people, her story was the least sad.

i wonder if a young expresso punk will one day anaylize and pick apart my life on a downtown bench. i guess the best thing i can wish for is that he sees a different kind of old in me.