I saw this old man, walking down the street in a MacDonald’s uniform the other day on his way to work. His shoulder where hunched, his hair gray under his black visor and by the way he walked I would bet there was more than a little arthritis in his joints. I thought first of how sad, that he has to do it out of the need for money or for company and then I thought about how tired I would be after being on my feet for eight hours at the age of 40, what did it feel like at 65, 70? I don’t want that to be me. I don’t want to be working until I the day I die, but I know I will. I know unless some miracle happens and I win the Powerball or somehow loose a limb I will have to work for the rest of my life. There will be no quiet fishing on a lake or on a boat. No campfires or walks along a deserted beach.I will never, ever be able to retire. I will be dealing with assholes, putting up with stupidity and trying not to scream or blow my head off until the very end. Fuck me.