By Christopher Munroe
I still hit the club.
I’m not THAT old.
It’s every other week or so, but I still go. I’ll never be this young again, I deserve every moment of happiness that comes, and I can still be counted on, come last call, when I go, to be dancing.
Don’t mention that “the club” is a painstaking recreation of a bar I loved in 1998, I don’t want to remember that, but yeah, I still go.
You’re only as old as you feel.
And, at the club, I feel eighteen again.
The next day, I feel seventy.
Still, I go…
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