Seniors Days in an ocean of youth.
I am to represent the senior community, at 47 with visible white and grey hair, I am still addressed as a youth, with my years of aging hidden behind a mysterious generic coat.
With just three more years to hit the half-ton, a milestone in wisdom and sanity, I was always glad the growing up was over. I had crossed the finishing line. Maybe I will join Noah the only good man, to be 500 like this. But since doing good to mankind is a punishable offense here on this planet and rewarded only in Heaven, if there is one, I am with Rumpelstien, designing supercomputing ears.
Earlier this morning I happened to visit a watering hole, a hole in an ocean of youth. The drunkenness was apparent, not so much from alcohol but from free Panera coffee, bread, and coffee from Him and the poorer lot, maybe they were not disadvantaged, but the ugly unacceptability of the aged and disabled was apparent in the mocking laughter, the drunkenness of youth and the ignorance of the seniors. Maybe they are the discarded lot, condemned to the basement to print license plates for the youth who acquire monster like machines, driven at speeds of extinction.
If this is the path to extinction, in the footsteps of dinosaurs, maybe it is too late in old age to realize that, change anything or inform youth.