Interesting. As I shed my work clothes for a pair of ratty black jeans and a Skinny Puppy t-shirt old enough to get into the bar on it's own I remembered my mother telling me about my grandfather changing into his scruffiest clothes after finishing work at the bank. Yes, my grandfather worked in a bank. I never knew him. He died in 1948 at the age of 48. Men in my family don't live long. This is part of my concern about wasting my life...
Oringinal post: http://mbarrick.livejournal.com/31390.html