By Paul Clark (aka motomynd)
When you are 65, you are finally able to understand why Ernest Hemingway shot himself at age 62, and you are ever more amazed that Hunter Thompson managed to wait until he was 67 to do the same.
When you are 65, and you take your six-year-old son to the playground, you finally get used to young women saying, “Your grandson looks exactly like you!” And you learn to savor their reactions when you say, “Well, that’s good news, because he is actually my son.”
