I’ve known every man in this room at least half my life, if not more: boarding school, university clubs, and all the same parties. Our parents were friends, and so here we all are. But somehow, I barely recognize them anymore. Hairlines are receding, torsos are bulging with middle-aged spread, and there’s a cruelty in their jokes I don’t recognize anymore, complaining about their wives and children, like a prison sentence somebody forced them into taking.