True stargazing is like the point of view of the guy singing “(Sittin’ On) The Dock Of The Bay.”
Dee Dee Flatts and Roman Roundandround had been staring at so many stars from the rooftop all night. Officially, it was their third date, and we all know what happens next if all goes well; the fourth date. Impatience lingered like a hungry pack of wolves, with slobbering anticipation, for they were young lovers on borrowed time.
This story takes place many years ago, back when you could see clusters of stars, a time before all the light and air pollution. Back when you could get an affordable and edible meat and cheese plate. Back when fruit tasted like something. Back when the news was on for only three hours a day. It was a simpler time. Nothing was so urgent that it couldn’t wait for the answering machine.
Back in my day, there was no email. There was just mail, and it wasn’t called snail mail either.
After six days had elapsed, Esther Noh received a letter from her beloved Arthur Treacherous. Everyday since his departure, Esther would sit on the stoop, drink coffee, smoke a Cuban cigar and groom her fabulous mustache, waiting for the mailman, appropriately named Marple Postman, Marp for short.
Esther grabbed the letter and immediately ran up the stairs, two steps at a time. Her breath quickened as she held the letter up to the sunlight. Her shaky hands held the well-worn letter opener, and odd beams of light danced on the wall, corresponding to the rhythm of her nerves.
Back in my day, we used stamps to mail letters, snail mail, and the American bald eagle was bigger than Elvis Presley.
When someone says back in my day, it’s just another way of saying how much the world has changed in his or hers life span. Also, it’s an opportunity to point out that someone needs to shut the fuck up with his or hers trivial nonsense.
When I say back in my day, here are the parameters: I am referencing 1970 to 1980. For those not familiar, it was the decade from 40 years ago.