America
By Paul F. Morrissey
It
is strange to feel invisible. I don’t remember exactly when it began to
happen. The only thing I know is that I am not seen much anymore when I
walk by people on the street. It is a little discomfiting, a little
bittersweet.
I am now in my late 70s and rather healthy, even athletic for my age, so it came as a shock to realize people rarely look back when I glance at them. Not just women who, understandably, do not often glance sideways. Men do not see me either. Young people rush by, earphones plugged in, oblivious to me—and others, I suppose, except for those near to them in age.
I am now in my late 70s and rather healthy, even athletic for my age, so it came as a shock to realize people rarely look back when I glance at them. Not just women who, understandably, do not often glance sideways. Men do not see me either. Young people rush by, earphones plugged in, oblivious to me—and others, I suppose, except for those near to them in age.
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