My Friend

I see him at least six days a week. He walks into the door and makes a pit stop by my table for two minutes of small talk. He thinks I’m a hard worker because that’s what it appears I’m doing whenever he comes in, but most of the time I’m staring at the screen thinking about what mediocre baked good snack I’m going to buy when I get hungry.

He gets the exact same thing every time. A cup of coffee and lemon pound cake. Sometimes twice a day. One time I joked that I just got the last piece of lemon pound cake and added how delicious it was. You should have seen the look on his face—it’s like his heart stopped! I never joked about that again.

His legs are thin like my wrist, but he never uses a cane. He walks slowly, his arms halfway outstretched to maintain his balance. Those steep curbs get him. He needs to hold on to someone’s forearm to lift his foot six inches off the ground. I told him I see men much younger than him using canes, and he smiled and said he doesn’t need one. Once you hold a cane, you hold it until you die.

He still drives, he brags, and I’ve seen him drive. With my teeth clenched I could barely watch him reverse out of a parking space and almost jump over the curb. It’s a miracle his car doesn’t have a scratch. Next week he’s going to Florida for a little vacation on his own. He will travel alone because he is alone. I told him that’s the only way to travel.

I looked him in the eyes one day and said, “When I become old I hope I become you.” And I meant it. And he laughed. I hope to be his age and independent, to be spared the brutal effects of aging that appear more cruel than death itself. To have every system of your body shut down unmercifully, to decompose before your last breath. I fear aging more than death, for in death there is no mirror to see how wholly unhuman I have become. I can only wait and see what nature has in store for me, but I hope that when my time is up, and I have lived my life to the best of my being and I’m nothing but an mere container, that I look at death right in the eyes, and beg it to take me. And it does.

My friend was born in 1917. He still has a long way to go.

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jaymzauzzy
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jaymzauzzy
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roosh, this is sad stuff buddy.

please tell me you’re still banging some chicks and not observing old people in starbucks all day

Lemmonex
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Lemmonex
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My great grandmother died at 92; she was still sharp and pneumonia took her fast.

My great grandfather, 98, outlived her and it was a fucking horror show. He would sob for her, call her name.

I pray my fate is the same as my great grandma’s.

Lemmonex’s last blog post: Surfs Up.

Carlos Kinshiani
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Carlos Kinshiani
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The most confusing thing about this story is that fact that it is told as if you are at work. Thank God one of the previous commenters mentioned Starbucks! Now it makes much more sense.

Kyle
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Kyle
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You seem to confuse the fleeting health and shine of youth as the permanent state of things for man. Death and aging are extremely human. The difference between the old man you write about and what you’re afraid of is that the old man is going out with dignity.

Arjewtino
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I’m not that old!

Oh, wait, you didn’t mean me.

Arjewtino’s last blog post: The great yarmulke experiment of 2008.

Anon
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Anon
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My grandfather is 97 and looks like he’s in his 70s. Still drives, has his mental faculties, and exercises almost every day. I have no doubt he’ll live to be 100+.

If you do the math, he was born a year BEFORE the Titanic sailed.

Nina
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Nina
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I just wanna live. Not even 1 minute more than I can go by my own. I’m not afraid of aging, what I would be afraid always is being depending of anything or anyone.
Did you ever watch a spanish movie called “The sea inside, mare dentro”?

roissy
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roissy
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this post is supposed to be humanistic but instead it leaves me feeling bothered and angry.

i’ve wondered how people would live if aging happened much quicker than it does — like we aged 50 years in one year. people sort of adjust to the horrors of aging because it happens on such a slow time horizon, but imagine if you visibly aged every day. i think there would be mass hysteria, mass suicide, and mass mobilization of every resource to solve the disease of getting older. also, people would stop working and just try to get in as many bangs as they could before they went impotent.

roissy’s last blog post: How To Handle Femmes Fatales.

The G Manifesto
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Drink Green tea. It negates the supposed aging effects of cigarette smoking.

– MPM

The G Manifesto’s last blog post: Confessions of an Economic Hit Man by John Perkins.

Virgle Kent
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“One time I joked that I just got the last piece of lemon pound cake and added how delicious it was”

Man, that’s probably the only reason he has to get out of bed every day. Man you’re a Dick

GMoney
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GMoney
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When little GMoney dies, I got no reason to live. I love talking to the old timers, for they were young once too. They hold the knowledge of your fate, and tell you how different things are now, and how they are still the same.

z
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z
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” just wanna live. Not even 1 minute more than I can go by my own. I’m not afraid of aging, what I would be afraid always is being depending of anything or anyone”

Those are my sentiments on the matter of ageing also.

Seeing the skin and hair go, the grey come, the color fade, and the muscles atrophy, is a tough, but inevitable thing. Older people get to take pleasure in the lives of their children and grandchildren though, and hoping that they have helped make the world just a little bit better than when they entered it.

I never want to be on a respirator or any other device that is designed to pump my blood or breathe for me in my latter days…..I hope I live to be fairly old, am healthy, and die quickly in my sleep if I cannot die the way I always REALLY wanted to go, which is (of course), being an 90 year old man shot in a jealous rage by a young husband who caught me in bed with is teenaged wife–but I digress.

This was a very thoughtful post by Roosh, who is a much more complicated man than just a random pickup artist.

crow
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crow
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my dad just died a month ago of a heart attack at age 71. he was doing what he loved, fishing on his boat that he finally got up and running with a few younger friends of his. my brother and sister and i went down to where he lived and as we sat and had breakfast at a diner i saw all these really old people. i knew my dad saw them everyday too and it occurred to me that he ate potato chips and all the ice cream he could knowing it would take him out early. so, although there are a LOT of people still crying over his death, i think he’s grinning from ear to ear having gotten out just in time…just before he got old.

Anonymous
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Anonymous
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Im not afraid of death , I just don’t want to be there when it happens.