It was my coworkers birthday, so I joined some of my coworkers for Happy Hour after work. At fifty-seven, I was the oldest person there. I was feeling my age. I reacted the way my father, Marvin Charton, used to watch everyone quietly, when we went to Dim Sum in New York’s Chinatown.
I watched the women. I knew things were bad. They weren’t flirting with me and I was not flirting with them. Now, I’m a writer. I just made the alcove I was sitting in my town square.