Lots of my friends and I are having to figure out this whole thing of being sixty-years-old. No one can know what it’s going to be like. It comes to everyone as a surprise.
It’s like touching the electrical mains for the first time. No one could have told you what it would feel like, and you could not have guessed.
“It’s like electricity, but lots of it.”
“It’s like the musical note “A,” two steps below middle-“C,” at 500 decibels per square inch.”
“It’s like purple.”
So we’re sixty: what’s it like?
It’s bloody annoying, that’s what it is.