"How you feelin', old man?" I ask, pushing a hand through his hair, which might be just a little thinner than it was when we first met. There are other differences, too. More lines on his face. His knees a little stiffer, maybe. But I know I've changed, too.

We might not be given the chance to get old together, but time's passing, in its convoluted, fucked up sorta way.