I follow him to a table at the back and sink onto the bench with a groan. This is a new thing I’ve discovered about myself in recent years. The noises. Stand and groan. Sit and grunt. Some days it seems that I can hardly take a step without some part of my body creaking or cracking and this—even more than the gray hairs and the crow’s-feet at my eyes—makes me feel as though I am racing down the final stretch of middle age.
