Getting Old

I am dressed in a t-shirt and jeans with some ratty tevas on. I have had a hurried morning, and am tired. I stop to get a hot dog and churro on my way out of Costco.

The mobile rings, and I talk to Hairball a moment. She asks if I might want to go to the zoo on Monday (of course) but it isn't certain yet, just a maybe. I pay for my dogs and churro, grab Gwen's hand and we get our lemonade. Then I step back to get my cart.

"Leaner?" I hear, a familiar voice, a blast from the past. Questioningly, I look forward. There in a Hawaiian shirt, looking none the worse for his age (well maybe a little grayer) is my old band director Mr. A.

"Hey, how are you?" I respond. Great I am thinking, of course of all the days to run into someone, why today? I hadn't even combed my hair, I had thrown clothes on that morning, Gwen didn't match. But why would it matter, this man saw me at my worst. He knew me in High School.

We chat for a moment, he works close to the Costco we are at. I glance at the political books he carries, we part ways. He walks by me again on our way out, "Its nice to see you."

You too, Mr. A. You too.

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