Saturday is grownup day at my school. It doesn't do a huge business, as I may have mentioned, in full-time, twentysomething grad students like yours truly and instead caters mostly to part-time, older, going-back-to-get-a-masters types. They're always around, especially in the evenings, but by-and-large are invisible behind a curtain of 19 year old Ugg-wearing girly-girls and frosted-tip fratboys.
On 9:30 Saturday morning, when the undergrads are (A) sleeping one off or (B) crying and driving way too fast to Walgreens in search of a Plan B, we're the only ones around. Graying heads in khakis and polos mix with mom jeans and the occasional pudgy, bearded full-timer in line at Starbucks. The sun shines bright through the wintergarden ceiling and it's quiet enough to think.
I must be old.
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