It's like a low fog is sitting right off the coast out there. Visibility is so low for such an otherwise clear day. That doesn't really bode well but maybe there should have been more preparation. Who really expected to make it this far?
Not I said the Little Red Hen.
Growing old wasn't really in the plan. Dying young wasn't either but there you go. What's to become of me now? It's a little late to sweat it now, isn't it? There is a lot of lost time to make up for though. This isn't a socialist country. Crabby, old pricks aren't tended to when they're no longer capable of making hay.
Was retirement really an option anyway? What would it look like? There is the couple next to me. They don't look unhappy, but they don't look so happy either, emerging from their flat and the fug of weed smoke and stale wine, to toss out huge sacks of empty bottles. Their eyes are red and bleary and their lips and teeth are grapestained purple. They don't seem unhappy though, with their jazz and beatnik smokehouse shuffle to the garbage chute. They seem to have an awful lot of time on their hands. That sort of time has never been my friend. Ugh.
Retirement doesn't seem an option anyway. Not for me. You have to start planning early for that.
Anyway... just thinking at the moment. I can't see the horizon, no matter how I squint.