Alison Clement

observations from a novelist who sometimes wants to say something small and see it published immediately

pretty old

 

Yesterday a man was killed on the same road we took to the coast. Last night we passed by the place where it happened, and I thought of his family. Today I read an article about the accident. So sad, but at least he wasn’t young, I told myself. He was pretty old. Oh, he was my age.

Categories: aging

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