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The day had to come. I knew it had to come. I hated that it had to come, but I knew it had to come.

Well, it’s here.

I bought reading glasses.

Yes, they’re blue. And a bit girly. I paid $17 for them at Walgreens here in New York City, and while I look the fool, I’m able to see again while typing. And that’s a plus.

But it’s also a sign. I’m old. The laser surgery of a decade ago has died. I squint to see. My eyes feel crusty. It sucks, sucks, sucks—and the next thing that comes is surely a sore back, followed by bruised feet, followed by increased hair loss, followed by … I dunno. Death?

So here I sit, $17 glasses affixed to head, aware that the grim reaper sits over my shoulder.

Looming.

I can see him.

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