tonight, Amy and i sat together at frijoles, struggling to keep our eyes open and to have some semblance of a conversation to catch up on each others lives.
finally, she cried "Sean! why are we old? when did we get old?!"
as i search through my mind.
as i catalog my life.
as i sort through the sordid mess of women i've known through the entirety of my existence.
i can't think of anyone i'd rather get old with.
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