Me and all the other impoverished oldsters will be sitting around the "rec room", playing a game of gin rummy with a 62-year-old deck of paper cards in between sock beatings by the surly teenage attendants. And we'll all be talking, trying to pass the time, and everyone will talk about Celine Dion and 'Everybody Loves Raymond' and the Olive Garden and Tom Clancy and the films of Adam Sandler, and I will talk about how much I used to enjoy listening to Death Praxis and Sleepytime Gorilla Museum. Or how I liked "Jim" a lot more than "Frank". Or the novels of B.S. Johnson.
And then everyone will stare at me and the surly teenage attendants will shove some Stop-O-Gloominex down my throat and no one will invite me to play gin rummy anymore.