30 something year old men are so obnoxious. I mean obviously 20 something year old men are, as well, but I just see them as children now so it’s not the same. By 30, they’ve put down the bong and stopped going to keg parties. They’ve graduated college and started a career. They’ve decided to get in shape and it’s really easy for them because they are only 30 something. They can run a seven minute mile with little effort. I’ll be doing interval training, running as fast as I can and two of them just breeze by me casually having a conversation about a new mountain bike or how one of them saw Aidan Quinn at the co op and he drives the same Prius. Just a couple of masses of gleaming rippling muscles with no fat flying past me like I’m a fucking sloth. I hope to see one of them when they’re 50 something. He’ll be sitting there at the Rosendale Café with his crotch goblins and his still good looking wife because she’s 10 years younger than him and does Pilates or whatever is trendy then. His hair will be thinning and he’ll have a big paunch and I’ll sneak up to him and whisper in his ear, “Not so fast anymore are you, plump boy!” and then I’ll take off cackling on my Rascal.