I have oft been described as an octogenarian in a thirty year old’s body, which I admit was super offensive until my last birthday on account of me still being in my 20s.
But anyway, now that i’m actually a senior stuck in a 30 year old’s body, I’m completely embracing my daddy-dom – as the kids say – growing out my Mr Sheffield streaks and hanging out with my distinguished peers, like the divine Cormac McCarthy.
I first met Cors at a writing workshop while attending the University of Tennessee in the 50s, where we bonded over our passion for (Phil) Olivetti typewriters, as was the style of the time.
I gave him a call on the wireless the other day and thankfully his dance card was free for latter this week. What says we’re going to the jitterbug and do the Charleston like a brutal piece of western American literature?
Image source: Unknown.
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One thought on “My country’s for old men”
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