Young muscle and corporate pudge were once taken for my age and better. At 26, a new job that evenly split office time and foot patrol, along with a retreat into the near-vegan diet I was born into, shed some 30 pounds and five years in four months. Now, two years shy of 30, bartenders are as generous with ID checks as co-eds are with attention. In either case, one of us fears giving up the goods may put them on the wrong side of the law. Yet peers, as young as me or as old as my parents, still call me "sir" while I am on the clock. Both bring relief, reprieve from each other. While the people who see shirt and tie remind me I've done well with the years that passed, the after-hours crowd reminds me just how many I have left.
Great Philosophers, Parties, & Rock Stars - Black Book
Resurrecting The Jetrosexual - Fly Brother
A Selection Of Five Trenches - Fantastic Man
(Don't) Put A Ring On It - Nerve
Modern Maturity - Art of Manliness
