It sounds unpleasant, but sitting in the coffee shop the other afternoon I caught a glimpse of the coming day, when coffee shops would be old hat, something that old people do out of habit, like going to Perkins. I felt myself already an old man but aware of his youth, like I was a black and white photo on the wall of someone who has already said his piece. Myself is one thing, but it’s not just me, it’s all of us. Look at the girls in the corner talking with each other over their lattes. They may still be there in fifty years, when Starbucks is the new Perkins, an ancient franchise hanging on in leftover parts of town, playing frowsy music, while their granddaughters – do what, I don’t know, probably don’t see the point of going out anywhere at all. Not living the present, but remembering it as though it had already happened fifty years ago; when I was twelve, I was as old as I will ever be in my whole life, I hope.
