Que rapida pasa el tiempo

My cousin Eric texted me a photo of myself a few months ago, taken when I was in high school in the late 80s. In it, I am perched on the counter at his dad’s body shop, hand extended forward mid story. I look like a young Steve Guttenberg from the 80s, when we were both young and strong, head full of curly hair, brown eyes and a mischievous smile. Now, some coworkers actually refer to me as “the old man.” They’re not wrong. I have sweatshirts sitting in my closet older than at least two of my colleagues in the English department.