Midnight At the Bus Stop | Story
We meet at my place, I cook dinner. Then we eat. We talk, and afterwards we sit and watch a comedy on my laptop.
It’s been years since I had a T.V. and the thought of one of those large plasma jobs hanging on the wall puts me off.
When that’s done, we sit and talk, smoke cigarettes, drink tea — we both quit alcohol years ago.
When you age. Things change. The body complains about substance abuse. Not drugs, but bad food and alcohol. Cooking that drips oil is substance abuse. Too much of that and you’re going to be awake all night with a churning stomach.
Too much coffee and you’ll be farting till six in the evening.
I hadn’t realised that I’d become old — or that I looked old — until my neighbours started to talk to me in a different tone.
These days, they stop and ask questions about my health. They want to know if I’m okay alone in my flat, and show concern because they haven’t seen me for a while. I think the implication is that I might have collapsed and be lying on my apartment floor hoping somebody will turn up. Well that’s kind of them to think such things. I’m not at that stage of life. Not that old.
