October 17, 2016:
"FUTURISM", reads both of the tubby hipster boy's shin-length red socks. I expect it means something different to him than it does to me.
Thin teenage blondie in charming Western hat sits just like me: feet on bag, Coke tucked in crook of arm, typing on phone. She's charming, I'm just old.
In a waiting room filled with younger people texting, older mom sits with scruffybeard son, hand on chin, staring at the carpet glumly, bored catatonic.