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Our Crack Little Crack
Little Crack has come to understand that we’re balancing precariously on the tipping point between young and old. Or, at least, we’re clumsily tight-roping a line between youngish and getting on a bit. The moment we hit our own personal, absolutely equidistant point, with death as clear on the horizon as birth was over our shoulder, was yesterday. Probably. Or it might be Tuesday week. You can’t be sure about these things but we sense it. We just know. This is the first year people handing out flyers to freshers haven’t even given us a first glance. It’s the first October that piles of russet leaves have made us think of our gutters. It’s also the first year that we’ve been able to see individual eyebrow hairs growing from our own brow without the use of a mirror. All this tells us that the tipping point is around about right here and it’s making us queasy.