She is probably never going to have sex ever again, I find myself thinking. What the hell is wrong with me? She is a lovely, warm, geriatric lady who stopped to talk to my four-year-old, and I am thinking about sex. But another part of my brain is already calculating how many more years I’ve got before I’m as old as she is, and whether or not it’s really going to be okay to spend them all being celibate,
