Those are my friends Mark and Bonnie on the slopes of Utah. I don't remember the year, but it was before I was gray. I never hear from them any more, and I'm pretty sure it's my fault. I'm too lazy to maintain relationships properly. I'd rather be home...doing this. I assume that means I'll die alone in some filthy home for the incontinent with the bad linoleum, and staticky black and white TV, and a big hairy nurse named Gertruda slapping me when nobody is looking because she doesn't like the look I give her when she doesn't clean the shit out of my diapers in a timely manner.
Okay, maybe that's going overboard.
I may be suffering a touch of irritability at turning fifty this coming Monday. There isn't much I'd change over the past fifty years, except I wish I would've danced more.