I’m thirty. Before me stretches the portentous menacing road of a new decade.
Thirty—the promise of a decade of positivity, a thinning list of single lesbians to know, a thinning brief-case of unfulfilled dreams, a full head of hair. And there are friends and family beside me who, unlike most, are too wise ever to carry well-remembered regrets from age to age. As we pass through the dark end of 2024 my wan face will fall lazily against the shoulder of the future and the formidable stroke of thirty will die away with the revitalizing pressure of its presence.
So we drive on towards life across the endless horizon.
