'Senior Hour' by Thaddeus Rutkowski

I went to buy groceries during Senior Hour. When I got to the store, there was a long line of old people waiting to get in. At the entrance, I had to show ID to prove I was old enough to enter. This step reminded me of being carded at bars when I was much younger. Sometimes I got into the bar; other times I didn’t. This time, for Senior Hour, I should have been flattered to prove my age. Maybe I looked younger than a senior. But I didn’t look young. No, I probably looked old as the hills. I’m sure my appearance was relative. I looked younger than Methuselah, but definitely older than twenty-one. What I really needed was a drink.