It was lunch time. We were eating barbecue. We do that a lot, he and I.
He was telling me something about a friend he has back home. She’s a woman roughly his mother’s age, if I got the gist. He stopped for a moment and looked at me. (It was just the two of us at the table.)
“I have this habit of making friends with old people.”
Yep. That’s me — I don’t deny it: I am an old people.